


Unhinged

by Crescentmoonmadness



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Betty is absent for most of this, Darker themes in later chapters, F/M, Heavy Angst, Mild Peril, but we talk about her lots, non canon FP, oh its an angst fest my buddies, this is gonna hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2020-07-26 03:48:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 39,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20037415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crescentmoonmadness/pseuds/Crescentmoonmadness
Summary: Jughead just wanted to go camping with his best friends, but when Betty Cooper mysteriously disappears into the night, it's up to him to get her back. No matter what.





	1. July

**Author's Note:**

> So here we are! Right on the heels of I Deal in Ice wrapping up, I bring to you... another angst-fest. But don't worry, there are plenty of fluffy bits sprinkled throughout.  
This story is actually a year in the making. I wrote the first draft of chapter one for Camp Bughead last year and immediately fell in love with the story. Since then, I've scrapped the outline twice, rewritten the first chapter probably ten times, and decided to never write it all at least once (and then changed my mind..obviously). I just couldn't get this fic out of my head. So here it is, my love child from me to you. The story that I couldn't let go. The one that demanded to be written.

Jughead leaned his head against the glass of the window. The trees built a formidable canopy above them, letting shafts of light in here and there. It was almost mystical, he thought, like they were being transported to a different place, somewhere far back in time. It had taken a considerable amount of convincing to get him to come camping, but really, all it had taken was the pleading of one blonde and he had known he would agree. She always had that effect on him. 

Jughead read the large, wooden sign as they pulled up to it, Peekamoose Valley. It had been a passionate debate on where to camp for the weekend, but in the end, Betty’s suggestion of Peekamoose Valley’s Upper Field was the only one that made sense. Archie drove them up the winding road in Veronica’s spacious SUV, a mountain barely visible in the breaks between trees. That was the plan. Make camp tonight, hike to the top of Peekamoose Mountain tomorrow. Jughead wasn’t much of a camper, or a hiker, for that matter, but where Betty is involved, he could be just about anything. 

The fire crackled as Archie gently strummed his guitar, the song sounds of the strings echoing through the trees around them. The marshmallows had been toasted and the hot dogs ate, all that was left was a dark July sky, the embers of the fire flicking up to touch the burnt orange of the fading sun.

He watched as she swayed softly from her place on the log, clasping hands with Veronica, blissfully happy that she had been able to escape her mother for a few days and spend some time with her three best friends.

He glanced around the fire, looking at each of them.

Archie, his friend since birth, red hair, and golden retriever eyes, strumming his new guitar that his girlfriend had bought him. He remembered mud baths and playing with Vegas in the backyard, being carefree, like a child should be allowed to. There were memories of weekend-long video games marathons, grandesque action-figure battles, that one time Jughead had gotten so mad at the redhead for something he punched him in the face, resulting in about one minute of scuffling in the dirt before they were friends again. 

Then Veronica, a surprising addition to their group, but one that he had come to appreciate. He and Veronica didn’t always get along. In fact, they rarely did. But he could recognize her importance for what it was. All her life, Betty had only had Archie and Jughead, and he knew that she had been happy with that. But he had always wondered if she was missing out on the joy of having a friend that could identify with every part of you. He had thought that Betty would despise Veronica when the raven-haired girl had started to pursue Archie, but she had taken it in stride. 

And finally, Betty. The center of all his best memories. The girl who ran herself ragged so she could keep up with the boys when they were six. The one who made him cookies every year on his birthday, and any other time he needed cheering up. The one whose green eyes always seemed to pierce right through his soul, always knowing when his happiness was real or fake. Archie was his first childhood friend, and he tolerated Veronica for Archie, but Betty was his everything. 

The singing and guitar melodies slowly drifted into silence and Jughead looked around the fire, smiling at the people surrounding him. His family, his home. Betty and Veronica were still sitting with their hands clasped together when Veronica gently cleared her throat. Jughead snorted at the pointed look Archie was giving Veronica and Betty huffed a quiet laugh. 

“Go on, V. We’ll see you in the morning.” Veronica flashed an effervescent smile at Betty, dimming it slightly when her eyes met Jughead’s. Her pearly teeth gleamed in the glowing in the light of the fire. She quickly turned without another word and took Archie’s outstretched hand.

“Night, guys,” the redhead called brightly. Jughead watched them walk over to their tent and unzip the opening, disappearing inside. He nudged Betty softly, bringing her out of her own thoughts. 

His heart glowed as she smiled at him, her emerald green eyes looking right into his soul. They were his favorite part about her.

“You might have made a good decision to put our tent clear across the campsite from them.” Betty giggled at his comment, knowing full well that he had shared the same sentiments with her in the back of Veronica’s vehicle on their way to the campground.

“Mr. Jones, I believe that you might be thinking the worst of them,” she declared through her stifled laughter.

Jughead stood, his lips quirking into a secret smile, and held out his hand to help her up. She took it and let him pull her up to stand beside him, releasing his hand when she was fully upright.

She stretched her arms out above her head, trying to keep in the yawn that threatened to overtake her. Jughead saw the tiny line of skin that was exposed as she rose her arms above her head. It wasn’t like it was something he hadn’t seen before. As kids, they had gone swimming at Sweetwater River all the time. As teens, they had frequented the pool in Riverdale on unbearably hot days. 

It’s true, Jughead Jones was no stranger to keeping it together when he saw Betty Cooper in a bikini, but those were times that he could prepare for. It was times like this, where he would get a glimpse of her, that shook his carefully reserved nature. 

Jughead chuckled softly, trying to cover up the dryness in his throat, and walked towards their shared ten, unzipping the door only enough to grab his clothes that lay beside it.

“You can get changed in the tent, I’m going to head over to the trees.” She smiled at his words, warming him from the inside out. 

“Don’t worry about it, Juggie. I have to, um, you know.” His eyes narrowed for a moment before flying open in realization. 

“Oh, um, well… in that case…” She giggled as he floundered, giving him a small shove on the shoulder. 

“Just get in the tent, I’ll be back right away,” her lilting voice sung to him, easing his embarrassment. 

“Ok, Betty,” he tried to keep his fondness at bay, it wouldn’t serve him well to be ostentatious with his affections. That was how their relationship worked. He tried to keep his feelings at bay, and she remained blissfully unaware of them altogether. 

He watched for a moment as she disappeared into the forest, the glow of the campfire not extending very far past the edge of their campsite. Jughead crawled into the tent and changed into his pajamas quickly, not wanting her to have to wait on him when he got back. Laying down on the air mattress, he waited for a while, silently looking up at the stars through the roof of the tent. He wondered if Betty would point out constellations to him like she used to when they were kids.

He grew impatient quickly, worry heavy in his stomach. It was dark out there, and there were wild animals in the area, and waiting had never been his strong suit. Jughead peeked his head out the door, prepared to chastise his friend for taking so long, but was met with inky blackness. There was no sign of Betty.

Nothing.

He got out of the tent, roughly shoving his feet into his shoes and taking off into the woods where he had last seen her.

“Betty,” his voice echoed in the inky blackness of the forest, bouncing off the trees and making its way back to him. “Betty,” a chuckle bubbled out of his chest, but it had no foundation in laughter, “if you think you’re going to scare me, you’re dead wrong.” 

No answer. 

He turned in a quick circle, igniting the flashlight on his cell phone. The small dome of light only succeeded in highlighting the trees close to him. His heart began to race fast. 

“Betts, come on,” his voice shaking, “this isn’t funny. Come out.” He waited.

No answer.

He turned and ran back to the campsite, skidding up to Archie and Veronica’s tent. He shook it with fervor, not taking notice of the breathy moans coming from within the canvas. 

“Archie, get up. Now.” He could hear a sigh of exasperation from inside. 

“Jug, I’m kind of busy,” Jughead felt red flash before his vision. 

“Archie!” he shouted, voice heated with impatience, “Betty’s gone.” There was silence for a moment, then the distinct sound of clothes being put on hurriedly. 

Veronica emerged first, a baggy sweatshirt of Archie’s looking out of place on her body. Jughead had never seen her wear anything that didn’t fit her frame perfectly. Archie came out next, a wild look in his eyes. 

“What’s going on, Jug?” He took a gulp of air, desperately trying to calm himself. 

We were getting changed for bed, I told her to change in the tent but she, she had to go to the bathroom. I watched her walk into the woods and I got changed in the tent. I waited for her and then…” He paused, his throat going dry. This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t. Any moment he knew that Betty would emerge from the darkness, laughing at the funny joke she had played on all of them. 

Archie’s hands were on his, shaking his roughly. “Then what, Jug?” Jughead looked back at the redhead, feeling the panic oozing off him. 

“Then I went to go look for her. She was gone.” Veronica clutched at her chest at his words. He felt his heart do a similar action, clenching painfully within him. 

“Ok, Ron, you call 911 and Betty’s parents. Jug, you and I are going to search the immediate area. We’ll start on opposite sides of the campsite and take twenty-five paces out, at an angle, then come back to the campsite, in a “W” shape until you get to where I started and I get to where you started. Got it?”

Jughead nodded, his mind stilted at the boy in front of him. Archie was the carefree friend, the one who made dumb mistakes. He wasn’t the type to take charge, at least, that’s what Jughead had thought, but at that moment he was so grateful at this hidden side of his childhood friend. 

He raced across the campsite until he was opposite of Archie, then with a nod, they both plunged into the dark forest. Jughead counted his steps under his breath, using his cell phone’s flashlight to illuminate the path in front of him. Every few steps he would call Betty’s name, then listen. All that he was greeted with was the echo of her name, a result of Archie calling out for her as well. 

Horrible thoughts raced around in his head. What if she was hurt? What is an animal had attacked her? These woods had bears, coyotes, even the occasional wolf. What if she had fallen off a small cliff and had been knocked unconscious, rendering their yelling useless?

The what-ifs were endless, and he tried to quiet the racket inside his mind. They would find her, they would. 

Twenty minutes later and he was where Archie had started, seeing the redhead emerge from the woods at the same time he had. He looked with hopeful eyes at his friend but was met with a shake of his head. The desire to scream crept up on him, but he pushed it down. 

Two hours later the Cooper’s arrived, frantic and wild-eyed. Alice Cooper was firing off questions faster than any of them could answer, while Hal took off to the woods, a flashlight in hand. Jughead felt the seeds of doubt start to grow in his stomach, he burned them alive. 

It’s been three hours since Betty went missing when the police finally show up. There were three squad cars, six police in total. Two of them talked to Hal and Alice in hushed tones, two of them came to ask him, Archie, and Veronica questions, and two headed to the edge of the site. 

“We checked the woods,” the words come out quietly at first, Archie throwing him a baffled look. The police officer asks him to repeat himself and so he does, although there is nothing quiet about the words now. 

“We already checked the woods,” he barked, his voice ragged, “Why don’t you do something? Do something!” Hal is by his side in a flash, telling him to calm down, that they would find her, that he needed to take a step back. Jughead tried to catch his breath, not knowing when it was that his composure had leaked away, hearing Alice on the phone in the background. 

“Come get them, Fred. They are in no shape to be out here. They’re all rattled.” 

An astonishing one hour later (astonishing only because it took at least two hours in the daylight to reach Peekamoose fro Riverdale) Fred showed up and has to throw Jughead into the backseat of Alice’s station wagon, wrestling him into the vehicle. Jughead can’t leave. Why don’t they get that? He has to stay, has to find her. Archie is pinning his arms down, begging him to calm down, but Jughead only gets more hysteric as they drive away from the campsite. 

A day goes by, search parties are heading out every three hours. Jughead joins every single one until they make him go home. He even gets to go up in the helicopter that first day, convincing Alice that he knew exactly what Betty was were that night, that he would be able to spot her through the foliage. He rode around for the better part of the afternoon, eyes red from strain. He saw nothing. 

A week now, the search parties have lessened. Only one a day, and it is always the same crew. Alice, Hal, Archie, Veronica, Fred, and him. Other people joined here and there, but it was always them. 

There was talk of letting it go, of moving on. Jughead had heard the whispers of the head detective to Alice and Hal. It’s too soon. It’s only been two weeks. Had heard the police advising them to start thinking about alternatives. He kept moving. 

He wasn’t surprised that Veronica was the first to stop looking. She wasn’t strong-willed, wasn’t hardened by a shitty life like he was. Wasn’t loyal like Archie. But then Archie stopped coming, then Fred. Soon it was only him and Alice making the long drive up to the campground every day, the silence deafening, but not as loud as the ring of failure that echoed through the woods as they trudged through the underbrush. At that point, they were searching every small town surrounding Peekamoose Valley but it didn’t matter. Jughead would scour every inch of the forest before he stopped looking. 

He would find her. 

He had to. 

  
  
  
  



	2. August

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone that has decided to follow this journey! I know that this fic is kind of different, in the Betty is absent for most of it, but I really wanted to play around with Jughead's point of view and I am having so much fun! I hope you enjoy chapter two! And to all those that asked, this fic will update every Monday.

August brought fewer search parties. 

It also brought the addition of a job into Jughead’s life. It killed him to be at a job when he should have been looking for Betty, but Alice was no longer springing for trips up the mountain to the Peekamoose Valley, which meant one thing; he needed a vehicle. Vehicles cost money. Money to buy, to fill up with gas, to pay the insurance. Money he didn’t have. It was bad enough that over the summer he had all but moved in with Fred and Archie, he didn’t want to borrow the old Andrew’s truck on top of everything else. 

So, hence, the job. 

It wasn’t anything fantastic. A little above minimum wage, at the Bijou, as a projectionist. At least it was something that interested him. He sat up in the booth for hours, planning out his next search area, and passively listened to the movies playing down below. 

However, hours up in a room were not needed to plan routes. He defaulted to countless hours spent thinking about her. 

The first time he had found himself mind-numbingly bored he had gone through all the photos on his phone, selecting every single one with her in it, and carefully putting them into their own album. Jughead wasn’t a normal teenager. He had little social media, no Instagram, Facebook, or Pinterest, although he did, begrudgingly, have Snapchat, but only because, for half their junior year, it was the only way Betty would talk to people. 

They all boasted a level of vanity that he didn’t possess, and what’s more, he would never be caught dead taking a selfie. Betty used to ask him to all the time, and he would argue and grumble about deadly sins and how the road to hell was paved with good intentions. She always saw through him though. She knew his lack of selfies wasn’t a righteous lack of vanity, but more due to his overabundance of self-loathing. 

This wicked pendulum swing resulted in a plethora of photos of her on his phone. Some she had requested he take and send to her for her own social media’s. But there were some that were taken when she wasn’t posing, and those were his favorites. Ones where she was laughing, the wind blowing her golden hair across her face, perfectly imperfect. It was these pictures that he cherished the most. He would sit up in his booth, scrolling through the pictures, taking in every detail from each one. 

He wanted her face to stay fresh in his mind, he couldn’t bear the feeling of the memory of her face slipping away from him. 

The first cheque he got from the Bijou had been disappointing, but more than that, completely unacceptable. He wouldn’t be able to buy a vehicle for months at that rate. He came home that night to Fred sitting at the table, a beer in one hand, a slice of pizza in the other. Jughead slunk into the seat opposite of him, helping himself to a slice from the box that laid in front of him. 

“What’s wrong, Jug? You look like you’ve been kicked in the shin one too many times today.” Jughead sighed and stuffed a too big bite of pizza into his mouth, chewing quickly before swallowing. 

“I got my cheque from the Bijou today. At this rate, I won’t be able to buy a vehicle until Christmas.” Jughead took another bite, wanting to wallow in his misery when Fred spoke again.

“Well, I know you only work evenings at the theatre, but if you wanted to earn some extra cash, you could come and work for me. Same job as Archie, cleaning up job sites.” Jughead’s face lit up at the possibility of more income. 

“Really, Mr. Andrews? I mean, you’re serious?” Sometimes it still came as a surprise to Jughead that a man who had no parental obligation to him was on a whole a better father to him than his own had ever been. 

“Now, I’m not promising it’ll be easy work,” Fred warned, “but it’s honest work. And what’s better, I’ll pay you under the table. More money for you, less hassle for me.” Jughead nodded, trying to reign in his enthusiasm. 

“I’ll take it.”

* * *

Jughead would never say that he had been particularly warm with the Coopers. Alice had made it clear on more than one occasion that she thought Betty’s friends were less than savory. Archie came from a broken home, Veronica came from corrupt money, and Jughead came from the Southside. Nevermind that Alice used to be a Southsider too, or at least that’s what his father had told him. Alice was certainly not the warmest maternal figure, and she had always made it abundantly clear that she thought Betty could do better. 

Then there was Hal. The Coopers patriarch was kinder than Alice, which didn’t say much. Betty used to say that Nixon was kinder than her mother. However, Jughead always knew that for all the grief Alice caused Betty, and for all the complaining Betty did about Alice, the two loved each other, unconditionally. 

Hal had never been anything but cordial to Jughead. He wasn’t warm like Fred, but he wasn’t ice cold either. Hal had managed to find the middle between the two. He always shook Jughead’s hand when he came over to hang out with Betty, and asked him how his father was. 

Jughead remembered one time when they were about eight, and Betty had convinced Jughead to take a ride on her bike. Nevermind that he had never ridden one without training wheels, or that her bicycle was brand new. When the inevitable crash happened, he remembered Betty’s salty tears, Alice’s shrill voice pointing out that he had bent the handlebars, but most of all, he remembered Hal’s kindness. The man had picked up Jughead’s scraped body and carried him to the deck, cleaning up his cuts and covering them with bandaids.

Jughead stood outside the Cooper’s house, memories of his intertwined childhood with the Cooper’s flitting about his mind, part of him terrified to go in and face Alice, part of him needing to go in for Betty. He was quite aware that Alice held all three of them responsible for Betty’s disappearance. If they hadn’t convinced her to go camping, if she had gone to that extra SAT prep course, if she had made the Vixens squad she would have been at a competition, if, if, if. 

There was a sea of  _ ifs  _ that would drown him if she had it her way.

He knocked on the door, the sound echoing through the house. He was making mental bets on who would be first to the door. Probably Alice, she never missed an opportunity to scowl at the neighbors. 

It definitely wouldn’t be Polly. The older Cooper sister had moved away last summer after finishing high school. Betty had spent most of the summer break lamenting how unfair it was that Polly got to escape Riverdale and leave her at the mercy of their mother. 

Polly had rushed home, shelling out the cash for a direct flight back to New York State from California, where she now lived with her boyfriend Jason. It had seemed that both the young adults craved some much needed separation from their respective families, and California had been about as far as they could go. He and Archie had been sent to pick up Polly, Hal and Alice had been entirely too busy between meeting with the police force from the area, writing articles for the Register asking people to help join in the search, and getting Betty’s face plastered on every milk carton, billboard, and newspaper within a hundred-mile radius. 

There he had stood, waiting at the terminal, people milling all around him. They were going about their normal lives and he remembered feeling so angry at them. How could they act so normal, how could anyone’s life go on, when his was falling apart?

Then he saw her, and it almost ripped his heart out of his chest. Before Polly moved away, he would have said the resemblance between the two sisters was enough to prove they had the same parents, but nothing more. 

But it had been a week since he had seen Betty, and almost a year since seeing Polly, and when he saw her, all he saw was Betty. If not for Archie holding him up, he would have completely collapsed. 

The door swung open and he was greeted by another face that looks like hers but isn’t. Betty’s eyebrow would never arch in such a judgemental way. 

“Jug-Head,” Alice greeted, her voice thick with disapproval. He looked at her, willing himself not to back down. 

“Mrs. Cooper,” he drawled, trying to exude calmness. They say that dogs can smell fear, and he was almost one hundred percent sure that Alice had the same ability. They stood in silence for what seemed like an eternity, but he knew was probably only a few seconds. 

He was just starting to wonder how he was going to talk his way inside, as it seemed that Alice wasn’t simply going to invite him in, when Hal showed up. 

“Jughead. Good to see you, I’ve been expecting you. Come on in.” He pushed his chest past Alice, clasping onto Jughead’s forearm like it was his lifeline, and pulled him into the house.

“Hal!” Alice exclaimed as Jughead was dragged past her, “What exactly is he doing here?” Jughead started to fumble, trying to come up with something that might appease her, but he didn’t have to. 

“I spoke to Jughead earlier this week and asked him to come over... to take a look around Betty’s room.” Now it was Alice’s turn to sputter, her face twisting in confused rage. 

“Excuse me? For what possible purpose? I don’t want him going in there and disturbing anything! Hal, you can’t just…” 

“Alice.” His voice was sharp, cutting her off midsentence, something that Jughead didn’t think was possible. “You aren’t the only one who lost Betty. And you aren’t the only one who is hurting.” Jughead tried to avoid the daggers that Alice was now staring at him as Hal led him up the stairs. 

The two men paused outside of the door that Jughead had walked through many times. Jughead turned to Hal, not sure what to say. Should he thank him for lying for him, or pretend that he was in on the lie? 

Hal answered his internal question for him, simply turning the knob to the door. “I know how much you must miss her, Jughead. Take your time.” 

It’s funny, he thought. Now that he had reached his objective, he was too scared to go in. The sun was shining in through the window, casting a gentle glow on the reading nook that was nestled in her window. He took a breath, putting one foot across the threshold, then another. 

Once inside, he looked around. Not much had changed, but that doesn’t surprise him. Alice may be overbearing, and a total nightmare, but she would want her daughter’s bedroom to be the exact same when she got home. That was just the kind of mom she was. 

He walked fully into the room and came to sit on the bed, her scent filling his nose and overwhelming him. He let himself just sit there for a moment, breathing it in. Memories flashed in front of his eyes rapidly.

Them playing tag with Archie in her backyard, screaming with delight until Alice tells the boys to go home. Betty bringing him cookies on his tenth birthday, knowing that he won’t be getting any presents, much less a cake when he goes home. Going to their first girl/boy party in middle school, the feeling of horror when they play seven minutes in heaven and it’s her and Archie that have to go into Cheryl’s coat closet (she told him later that nothing happened except for a rousing game of rock, paper, scissors to pass the time). The first day of freshman year, all three of them walking into Riverdale High’s doors, Archie running off almost immediately to sign up for football tryouts, her reaching a pinky down to twist with his, because even though Betty showed the world she was confident, that nothing got to her, he always got to see her vulnerability. 

The last day of sophomore year, planning their camping trip to Peekamoose Valley; him, Betty, Archie, and Veronica, sitting around a picnic table out on the quad, talking about their summer plans and promising to meet up July long weekend to go hiking and roast marshmallows. 

The memories flash so quickly that it almost makes him dizzy. He feels empty without her, like a piece of him is missing. But truly, it makes sense. There was no Jughead Jones without Betty Cooper. She was tightly woven into his life, no event, no matter how big or small, had ever passed without her.

Her smell permeated every square inch of the room, filling him until it was all he can smell. Before he can stop himself, he walked to the closet, his eye drawn to a familiar piece of clothing. His thoughts slammed into him full speed, jarring him. 

It had been that spring, the sun had just started to peek out from the ever-present cloud cover of a grey, East Coast winter. Betty had wanted to go for a walk, and Jughead had been quick to indulge her. There was something about winter that made Betty absolutely stir crazy. Every year, since they were kids, on the first day of truly spring-worthy weather, Betty would drag him outdoors for a walk.  _ To reacquaint ourselves with nature,  _ she would say. 

They had been walking for way too long before she finally listened to his begging that they should head back. The sun was beginning to set and they were still three blocks away from her house. Despite the fact that it was spring, the nights were deceivingly cold and before they had walked another block she was shivering so hard that she was convulsing with each shake. 

He had shrugged out of his flannel, and handed it to her without a second thought, refusing her refusal of the item. 

He stopped walking, much to her dismay. 

“If you don’t take it, I’m not moving.” He had struggled to keep his straight face when he saw the look of outrage on hers. 

“That’s coercion!” She yelled shrilly, another shake rattling her frame.

“Then I guess you better take the sweater.” She had rolled her eyes, ripping the offensive item out of his hand and putting in on over her own sweater, with a promise that he would get it back, washed, the next day. 

Over the coming months, he would never get it back. Instead, it became a staple in her wardrobe. Alice hated it, he chuckled to himself. 

He pulled the flannel from its hanger, bringing the sweater up to his nose and breathing in deeply. It smelled like the rest of the room, like her. There was no trace of his scent in the item, and it was for that reason that he carefully tucked it inside his bag and walked out the door. 

Alice was hovering by the stairs as he walked down them, he did his best to not look suspicious. The woman was a fire-breathing dragon in sheep’s clothes. 

He felt bad the moment he thought it. Alice was intense on the best of days, but her daughter was missing. And truly, was he really any better these days?

* * *

“No, Arch. I am not coming to that,” he repeated into the phone for what seemed like the millionth time since he had started walking home from the Bijou. He tried to remind himself that his friend was just doing what he thought was best, which just so happened to be attending some party over in Greendale tonight. He knew it probably wasn’t Archie’s idea, but most likely Veronica’s. All the more reason to say no. If it was Veronica’s idea, it would no doubt be at some rich kids house, somewhere he would feel totally out of place. 

“Jug, come on, man. You need this.” Jughead scoffed into the phone. He most certainly  _ did not _ need to go to a party. 

“Still no, bud. Maybe next time.” The light was beginning to fade, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pain in his gut. Sunsets were her favorite. 

“Jug,” something about the brokenness in Archie’s voice caused Jughead to stop walking, “Maybe you don’t need this, but I do. And I need you there. Ever since…” a pause, a shaky breath, “Ever since she disappeared I’ve felt this pit of guilt in my chest, like it’s  _ my fault  _ that she’s gone. I just need to… I don’t know, let loose. Get out of my own head for a while.” 

Jughead pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to say no now. 

“Alright, Arch. But I am not drinking.”

It was eleven on the dot and Jughead was completely wasted. There was a pleasant fuzziness that hung around his vision, casting everything in a soft glow. If this was what his father felt every time he came home drunk, then Jughead couldn’t really blame him. 

In the back of his mind, he knew that somewhere, through the course of the night, something had gone awry. He remembered showing up with Archie and Veronica, the two of them making a beeline for the kitchen. 

He had opted to walk around instead, staying away from the alcohol as he said he would. But then Ethel Muggs asked him how he was holding up. 

Josie told him to hang in there.

Reggie said that he would miss her. 

Then Chuck gave him a red cup, the contents undisclosed. And he had taken it, the pain in his chest suddenly too much to bear alone. Nevermind that Archie and Veronica were supposed to be with him. Nevermind that everyone was acting as if she was dead. Nevermind his vow that he would never drink. 

It all twisted around him, gripping him with claws that felt ever-tightening, until it was all he could do to seek refuge in the bottom of the cup, the thick, amber liquid burning him all the way down to his toes. 

He should have stopped at one. But who ever stops at one?

So there he was, God knows how many drinks in, the world spinning around him in an unfocused blur, waiting for a blonde that wasn’t there. He felt hands under his arms, pulling him up.

“Come on, Jug. Let’s get you home.” He knew that voice, but the rum sloshing around his skull prevented him from placing it. He saw a flash of red and black, an annoying voice in the background, and then everything went dark.

He looked up, seeing bright lights twinkling above him. Stars. He was outside. 

“I have to find Archie,” he moaned, only to hear laughter ringing out beside him, then noticing that there was a human there keeping him upright. 

“I’m right here, bud,” came a reply. Jughead swung his head to the side, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to bring the night into focus. He felt at ease, knowing that his friend was close.

They weren’t walking for long before he heard the opening of a truck door and suddenly Jughead was horizontal. His world began to spin again as the truck bounced along the road, his mind overcome with the single thought of keeping the contents of his stomach where they belonged. 

He couldn’t say how much time had passed before they stopped. It wasn’t for long though. The truck halted, a door opened and closed, and then they were moving again. The truck stopped once more, this time on a slight incline. Jughead felt a cool breeze on his flaming face as his door was opened and he did his best to pull himself upright. 

He stepped out onto the pavement, feeling his legs sway beneath him. Then, his vision cleared. That was the thing about being drunk, he guessed. You had no control over what your mind decided to perceive. And at that moment, his mind was hyperfocused on the house next door. Perfect white fence, perfectly kept house, perfect family. Except they weren’t. They couldn’t be. She wasn’t there. They couldn’t be perfect without her. 

“Where is she?” he whispered, clutching onto Archie's jacket, “Where is she?” His voice rose to an unearthly pitch, not caring if he disturbed the slumbering houses around them. He shook the redhead, seeing the look of concern and something else on his face. 

Pity, he thought. The something else was pity. Jughead tried to gain control of himself, but his eyes wandered to her window, pitch black in the night, another reminder that she wasn’t there.

“Come on, Jug. Let’s go inside.” Jughead released Archie’s shirt, allowing his friend to once again wrap an arm around his waist and guide them inside.

“Where is she, Arch?” his voice broken, all the desperation he tried to keep inside leaking out into the night. 

“We’ll find her, Jug.” Jughead took comfort in the rich reassurance his friend offered, knowing that tomorrow it wouldn’t amount to much. But tonight, tonight it meant everything. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liked what you saw? Drop a comment, leave a kudos, or come visit me on Tumblr! I love hearing from you guys!


	3. September

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy fork! Hey guys! So I totally think I jinxed myself by saying that I was going to update weekly. It's been.....an embarrassingly long time since I gave you lovelies an update, especially considering that the chapter has been written and awaiting editing. But, I am back now and hopefully will stay back until that bad boy is done! I'm not going to lie, my mental health has been all over the place. I don't say that to garner sympathy, but instead to highlight that nothing... NOTHING... is more important than your mental well-being. So I took some time, did some personal development, went to therapy, and now I'm back, ready to hang and write and be angsty with the best of them. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I am truly sorry for the wait, but I am happy that I am happy again. And I hope you are too!

The end of summer came all too soon for the students of Riverdale. For most, the end of summer simply meant the end of freedom, long days of sunshine, and no school. For Jughead, however, it meant the end of earning a decent paycheque. Between the Bijou and working for Fred, Jughead had been working all day, every day to get enough money to buy his own vehicle. His reprieve finally came at the beginning of September, one week into school. He had gotten his last check from the theater and paid his necessary expenses. His cell phone bill, which ate up a healthy chunk of his hard-earned money, enough of the power bills for the trailer to make sure that it didn't get shut off, leaving the pipes to freeze going into the colder weather, and rent money to Fred. He scoffed at the thought of the measly fifty dollars he gave Fred being considered rent money. 

When he had first started to stay with the Andrews, the elder Andrew man had refused to take any form of payment but after a month of Jughead hassling him, Fred finally caved and said that he would take fifty dollars for rent and nothing more. Jughead was aware that the money didn't even cover a quarter of what it cost to feed him, but Fred couldn't be swayed. 

It was Fred who went with him to buy the vehicle, although Archie had happily tagged along. It was nothing special, a beat-up ‘89 Chevy that would probably be a pig on gas, but the price was cheap and the insurance would be as well. Jughead bounced from one foot to the other, anxiously watching Fred do a thorough check of the vehicle. 

It was bordering on the tenth minute of his inspection when the seller, an old man of questionable integrity, if the way he was shifting his eyes from one man to the next was anything to go by, gruffly asked Fred what the problem was. Fred answered calmly, his low baritone filling the air. 

“Nothing wrong, pal. It’ll just be a cold day in hell before I let one of my boys drive something that isn’t reliable.” With a huff from the old man, Fred turned back to the vehicle, continuing his inspection as if nothing was different. Jughead, however, couldn’t carry on in the same way. 

_ One of my boys,  _ he had said. It was only four words, but they filled him with more acceptance and attention that he had ever received from his own parents. He felt an unfamiliar sting in his eyes, noticing a moment too late that he was tearing up. He looked out of the corner of his eye, trying to make sure that no one was seeing his lapse of control. Archie was looking intently at him, and Jughead tried to shoot him a grin but he felt it fall flat. The redhead walked over to Jughead slowly, not drawing the attention of the two older men who were now locked in a haggling war over the price of the truck. 

Archie sidled up to him, standing shoulder to shoulder, not saying anything for a moment. “Dusty out here, hey?” Jughead turned to look at him, puzzled at his question. “Dust always makes my eyes water,” Archie tried again. Jughead looked at him for another moment until his words suddenly made sense. 

“Oh,” Jughead said, wiping his eyes, “yeah, me too.” He was thankful to Archie. Some people made fun of him, saying he was just another dumb jock, but there was a lot more to Archie Andrews than met the eye. They stood like that, watching Fred triumphantly shake the older man’s hand, successful in knocking another two hundred dollars off the price of the truck. 

Jughead handed over the money, gladly pocketing the extra. More money for gas. He was about to get in the driver’s seat when Archie called out from his left, “Shotgun!” 

Jughead rolled his eyes, “Arch, there’s no one competing with you. Your dad has to drive your truck home.” 

Archie simply shrugged, “It’s good to be in practice, Jug. Wouldn’t want to lose my touch.” Jughead simply chuckled and climbed into the driver’s seat. For now, the truck had no insurance and registration, so they would be taking side roads back to the Andrews’ house, but Jughead couldn’t help but feel the freedom coursing through his veins. 

No more relying on anyone for rides to school, or to work when it got cold. But most of all, this meant he could go to Peekamoose whenever he felt like it. 

Peekamoose, it turned out, would have to wait. With Jughead, Archie, and Veronica starting their senior years, there was little time that they had to themselves outside of school. Archie had made captain of the varsity football team and was also playing guitar with backup vocals for Josie. He was taking enough classes to remain on the varsity team, but true to Archie fashion, he wasn’t overextending himself in the area of academics. 

Veronica was taking AP everything. Her course load was so full, it almost rivaled the one Betty had planned last spring, but the heiress was determined to make it into Harvard Law to get out from under the thumb of her parents. She had preached all junior year that she needed a 4.0 GPA and killer extracurriculars. It always amazed Jughead that despite how different the two women were in almost every other aspect, they shared a true bond when it came to their determination and grit. On top of all the AP classes, Veronica was also the right-hand lady to Cheryl for the Vixens, and, more recently, had been cornered by Josie to take over Betty’s position as decorating coordinator for school functions. 

That title had been hard for Veronica to take. Jughead had watched the conversation happen right in front of him at their lunch table, on only the third day back at school. 

“We need someone to fill in for Betty, the Welcome Back dance is next weekend and we are totally lost without her. You were her best friend, Veronica. Please?” Jughead’s skin had been alight with flames at the use of  _ were.  _

_ She still  _ ** _is _ ** _ her best friend,  _ he wanted to scream. It had been following all three of them around since the moment they had walked through the doors on the first day. Rumors had been floating around town all summer, but the blonde’s absence on September 1st seemed to be the proverbial nail in the coffin for everyone else. 

Betty Cooper wasn’t at school? Then she wasn’t coming back. Period.

It was enough to make Jughead want to throw everyone who dared to look at him with pity into a locker, hard enough to knock the pity right off their face. 

Veronica had agreed, reluctantly, saying that as soon as Betty returned she would relinquish the title. Josie’s face seemed to soften at the raven-haired woman’s words. 

“Sure,” she said, although she sounded as far from sure as she could be. 

Jughead’s own course load was quite similar to Veronica’s, but unlike Veronica, it wasn’t because he wanted to get into an Ivy League. No, it had started at the beginning of junior year, when the four friends started talking about their future plans. Archie wanted to go to Julliard, or maybe take a football scholarship and do a business degree, or maybe he wanted to start his own ab-making company. Jughead lost track of how many times he had changed his mind. Veronica wanted to be a feared and respected New York attorney, firmly moving into her own and leaving her parents murky business dealings behind. Betty wanted to go to NYU for journalism, her passion for investigative journalism so deep that he knew her dreams of working for the New York Times would become a reality someday. When they all looked to him to share his plans he had simply shrugged, admitting that all he really wanted was to stay out of the Serpents. They had all given him a look of reassurance, telling him that he would be ok. 

It wasn’t until later, when they were alone, that Betty cornered him, demanding him to tell her his actual dream. 

“You’re a dreamer, Jughead Jones, and don’t you dare try to tell me otherwise. Forget everything else, where you grew up, who your parents are, just forget all that for one second. What is it that you really want to do?” 

He remembered being stunned by her determination to get a truthful answer out of him, just another reason why she would make a great journalist. He stared into her green depths, feeling himself fall into them when she had huffed impatiently, awaiting an answer. 

“I want to be a writer,” he mumbled. The next thing he knew he was almost being blinded by the brightness of her smile.

So now here he was, roped into all AP classes so that he could get into his dream school, NYU, for their creative writing program. They had specifically selected their courses so that as many matched up as possible. Jughead hadn’t been crazy about spending most of his day alongside Veronica, but he would do just about anything to get to spend time with Betty. 

He ghosted from class to class for the rest of the day, trying to focus on the material that was being taught to him, but he retained nothing. All he could think of was Betty and how blatant her absence was in class. The conversation was duller, the questions stupider, even the lighting seemed dimmer. He was having a hard time adjusting to a Betty-less classroom after attending classes with her for the better part of eleven years. 

Yet, for the first time in eleven years, Jughead did something that he had never had to do before. He took notes. Diligently. He wrote down everything that the teacher said, every scribble that was made on the whiteboard, sometimes even including interesting points raised by classmates. 

Jughead had never had to write notes in his life. He took classes with Betty, and because more often than not her notes were more comprehensive, and  _ neat _ , for that matter, he usually ended up studying off her notes. It had begun in middle school, with their History teacher, Mrs. Thompson. She was notorious for doing oral lectures only, not a stitch of writing on the board, nor a single handout given. As a result, students had to learn how to write and write fast in order to get the information for exams and assignments. There was only one problem. Jughead had miserable penmanship. And the faster he had to write, the worse it got. He wasn’t particularly ashamed of the fact, but accepted it as truth. 

But back then, Jughead had been a ‘suffer in silence’ type, not ever voicing his concern to his teacher, or even complaining to Archie and Betty. It wasn’t until Betty saw his third failed exam that she cornered him, she had been taller than him at the time, and demanded to know why someone so smart was failing tests. He wasn’t going to tell her, too prideful to admit that it was something as stupid as his ineptitude at printing, but when he saw the glower on her face he had quickly changed his mind. He had muttered his explanation for the failing marks, only now feeling embarrassed, even though he was speaking to the one person who had never judged him. 

She had laughed out loud, and for a horrifying moment he had thought that she was laughing at  _ him,  _ until she finally was able to compose herself and choke out, “Juggie, you should have  _ said  _ something. You can just borrow my notes, and I won’t tell Mrs. Thompson.”

So now it was his turn to take notes, after years of her helping him, he could do this for her. He even copied her note-taking style, as convoluted as it was, but after studying from her notebooks since middle school, he was confident that he could replicate it. Then, when she got home, it would be like she hadn’t missed anything. All she would have to do was read the notes, take the tests, do the assignments, and she would be caught right up. 

The rest of the week followed the same pattern. Classes, lunch, pity from his classmates, more classes, more pity. It was beginning to set him on edge, his nerves as taut as violin strings, being plucked at constantly. He knew that if they kept being plucked at, eventually one would snap. 

The first transgression was Josie’s insistence that Veronica fill Betty’s spot as decorating coordinator. If that had been it alone, Jughead might have been able to hold it together, but bad things came in threes, and before the week ended he would find himself bargaining to keep Betty’s presence in Riverdale untouched twice more. 

The second time was with Cheryl Blossom. He had been walking down the hallway after school when a blue and gold signup sheet caught his eye. A closer look revealed that it was a for the Vixens, advertising that there was an empty spot that needed to be filled. Jughead had seen red, tearing down the paper and marching towards the gym. He could hear the pump of music from down the next hallway, and the thumping of the beat syncing with his heart only spurred him on more. 

He burst into the gym, feeling every head in the room turn to look at him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He marched up to the table at the front of the room, slapping down the signup sheet. 

“Um, hello? This is a closed audition, hobo.” He seethed at Cheryl’s insult, feeling himself one inch away from flipping the table. 

“What the hell is this, Cheryl?” he envisioned his words were acid, hitting the redhead’s skin and burning it up. 

“And here I thought you could read. It’s a -”

“I  _ see  _ what it is!” he shouted, his voice booming off the walls in the large room. He vaguely noticed that the music was off now, some of the girls looking around nervously. “Betty earned that spot, school hasn’t even been going for a month and you look to replace her? What happened to that Vixen loyalty that you wax on about time and time again? What about familial loyalty? She is your cousin, Cheryl. Have you no concern for anything but your precious cheerleading squad?” He could tell that his last sentiment was what really got to her, watching her flinch as he spat the words at her like poison. 

“How  _ dare  _ you assume that I don’t care about my dearest Betty,” she hissed in return, her eyes blazing. He dismissed her with a wave of his hand, turning immediately to the raven-haired woman sitting next to the red-headed she-devil. 

“And what about you?” he spat, “Where’s your loyalty? She is your  _ best friend _ , the infamous B and V, and you, what? Just went along with this plan?” She had enough sense to look ashamed, her eyes only meeting his for a moment before falling to the table. 

“I don’t think that Betty would want us to leave the spot open Jughe-”

“Bullshit!” he snapped, “Don’t speak as if you know what she would want. You have known her for two years, Veronica. I’ve known her her whole life.” Again she wouldn’t meet his eyes, but it didn’t look like shame this time. No, it almost looked like pity glazing over her eyes, pity for him. The simple realization only emboldened him more.

“I’m not leaving,” he said petulantly, “not until you cancel this tryout.” He crossed his arms over his chest, truly feeling like a pouting child, but he had to do this for her. She would be devasted when she came home and realized that her coveted spot on the River Vixens had been given away. A look of resignation came across Cheryl’s face, only replacing her annoyance for a moment.

“Fine, you cretin,” she sighed, leaning sideways to look past him. “Tryouts are henceforth canceled, better luck next time ladies.” Jughead turned his head to look over his shoulder, watching the disappointed girls leaving, sending him death glares as they went. He didn’t care. None of them mattered as much to him as Betty did. 

“Listen, Jones.” He turned his attention back to the table, trying to smother the look of triumph on his face. “We are the reigning World champions for high school cheerleading, meaning we have an automatic bid into this year’s competition. It would be cheer-suicide to go a woman down, so I will hold Betty’s spot until January. If she’s not back by then, I will have no choice but to fill it with someone in hopes that they will be able to be competition ready for February.”

Jughead nodded his head in agreeance, knowing deep in his heart that they would find Betty before that. 

The third, and final, test of his patience comes in the form of Mr. Weatherbee, this time a bombshell that is dropped during the morning announcements. 

“ _ ...A tough loss for the Bulldogs. Henceforth, the Blue and Gold will be suspended until further notice…”  _

Jughead stopped paying attention, grabbing his bag from beside him and leaving homeroom, marching down the hall despite his teacher calling after him. Just as Weatherbee finishes up the announcements, Jughead bursts into his office. The elder man looks shocked only for a moment before a look of disapproval settles on his visage. 

“Mr. Jones, to what do I owe the honor?” He takes a seat behind his desk, and Jughead takes the opportunity to storm up to him, laying his hands flat against the dark mahogany. 

“The Blue and Gold, why is it being suspended?” he questions, not wanting to mince words. He watched as Mr. Weatherbee scoffs lightly, looking at him with incredulity. 

“There is no one to head up the editing, in the absence of Miss Cooper.”

“I’ll do it,” Jughead interrupts, his heart racing. “I’ll edit the paper.” Weatherbee raised an eyebrow. 

“Well, it’s not just editing,” he continued, “Miss Cooper did most of the writing as well. And printing, and distribution.” 

“I’ll do it,” Jughead repeated, more emphatically this time. It’s quiet for a moment, the two men locked in a stalemate, waiting to see who will give in first. Weatherbee shook his head, conceding his defeat. 

“Very well, Mr. Jones. But see to it that the quality of the paper doesn’t suffer. I expect a Cooper level of effort.” Jughead simply nodded his head, a smile on his face. 

In the course of a week, he had saved Betty’s spot on the Vixen’s, the Blue and Gold, and the decorating committee. Self-admittedly, the last one was due mostly to Veronica, but he was taking credit anyways. 

He felt a sense of calm come over him as he walked to class, knowing that when she came home, nothing would be different, everything waiting for her to return. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did you think? Liked it? Loved it? Hated it? Let me know! I love hearing from you all regardless! Also hit me up Tumblr, it's pretty lit over there!


	4. October

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hey, all! I would apologize for the long wait, but honestly, I'm just glad that my motivation to write is back. I always find that my will to produce content during a hiatus hits rock bottom, so I've been binge-watching lots of TV, catching up on movies that I haven't seen, reading lots of fanfic and books, and spending lots of time with family. Now, with season 4 upon us, I feel refreshed and ready to get back to it! I hope you like Chapter Four!

He went back to the campground that month, twice. Both times yielded nothing but a hit on his wallet in the form of gas money, the old truck he bought proving to be worse on fuel than he had anticipated. He had come back to Riverdale defeated, with every inch of the campsite within a twelve-mile radius now scoured. And still, he found nothing. 

_ Maybe she wandered out past the mountain? _ he thought to himself. After the mountain, it was miles and miles of untamed wilderness and unmarked trails. What he needed was more people so that he could expand his search radius, but all he got when he asked for help were looks of pity. So he had stopped asking. 

They had had two Friday’s off school in the past month, and Jughead had taken full advantage of the long weekend, spending the three days sleeping in his truck and eating beans heated over a fire. He still stayed at the campground, going so far as to stay in the same stall as that night back in July, hoping that by staying in the place that he had lost her, maybe he would be able to find her. 

It was October now, the nights getting colder. He had had to sleep with his sherpa-lined jacket last time, along with two blankets, and still, he woke in the morning with fingers stiff from the cold. He tried not to resent those that wouldn’t help him. Veronica, he understood. Her Jimmy Choo heels didn’t stand a chance against the wild undergrowth that blanketed the forest’s floor. Alice and Hal, he understood less. He knew they were exhausted, but weren’t parents supposed to go to any lengths for their children?

The real betrayal came in the form of his redheaded best friend. Jughead had been by Archie’s side steadfastly since they were in kindergarten and latter had broken Reggie’s nose because the boy had said Jughead came from the dirty side of town. He had been there when Jughead’s mother had left, when his dad had gone off the deep end. And he had been there to offer Jughead a home when his became unsuitable. 

Archie had been there for Betty, too. Through thick and thin, the three of them had always had each other’s backs. But when Jughead had asked Archie to come with him, the look of pity of his friend’s face had cut him down to the bone. He hadn’t even stayed long enough to hear the explanation, grabbing his things and leaving in a cloud of dust. 

Jughead had spent that whole last ride to Peekamoose seething, knowing that if the roles were reversed, and it was Betty and him who were looking for Archie, the blonde would never give up. She was the best of them. The truest of the three. The glue that held them together. 

When Archie and Jughead had stopped speaking in second grade, it was Betty that brought them back to each other. She had always held them together, but now, in her absence, they were quickly falling apart.

The last night in his truck, with his blanket wrapped closely to his face, he cried. The hopelessness set in as the sun sank below the horizon, gripping his heart strong enough to crush it. He had been so sure that he would find her, so convinced that if he just looked hard enough he would be rewarded with getting her back. But it had been almost four months now, and his optimism was dwindling. How could she be ok, after spending four months missing? 

He didn’t want to admit it to himself, let alone out loud, but a small voice in his heart whispered what everyone else was already thinking. 

_ She wasn’t coming back. _

Jughead scowled at the thought, wrapping himself tighter in the blanket. He couldn’t start thinking that way. She was out there, and she  _ needed  _ him. He wouldn’t give up on her, not now, not ever. 

It was the last day before the park closed down for the season. Soon, heavy snow would prevent him from making it up the mountain. He didn’t dwell on what that would mean for Betty, he couldn’t. The sun shone down through the trees, reflecting off the small pools of dew that hadn’t evaporated yet. The result was a dizzying dance of flashing light. Jughead trudged through the undergrowth, intent on finishing the last quadrant before the sun set that evening. It would be a long drive home on dark roads, and he was hoping to leave before the sun descended past the horizon. 

He had woken up with the sun, the rays of light barely peeking over the horizon. His morning had been spent hiking up the trail that they would have taken, all those months ago. He was heading up the mountain, desperately trying to convince himself that it was because it was the final section of his search plan, not as a way to feel close to her. 

As he walked, he let his mind wander to thoughts of Betty, something he tried to avoid. Too much reminiscing and that feeling of hopelessness would overcome him, but today, with the sun shining down on him, he let himself think of her. 

The first memory that came to him was tinged with sadness. His mom had just left town, taking Jellybean with her. Jughead could still remember so clearly the gut-wrenching realization that his mother didn’t want him, had probably never wanted him. 

He had gone to the one place where he knew he was welcome, Pops. He had barely made it through his first cup of coffee before his two best friends had shown up, a result of Pop calling them when he had seen the look of anguish on Jughead’s face. 

Archie had slid into the booth across from him, while Betty had slipped in beside him. They had sat there silently, not pushing him to say anything. Ultimately, he had told them. About how he had gotten home from school and his mom’s stuff was gone, Jellybean’s things cleared out from the room the two Jones children shared. About how his father had been passed out drunk on the couch. About the short note that his mom had left him. 

_ I just need some space, Jug. Sorry.  _

Archie, ever the optimist, had said that she would come back for him, and Jughead had said nothing. He had wanted to scream at the redhead, to spew the tarry, black hatred that sat in his chest, to tell him that things weren’t always just  _ okay.  _

But before he could do any of that, there had been a hand on his arm, hiding beneath the surface of the table. A delicate hand that squeezed him, ever so gently, telling him that she understood. 

Later, after Archie had left to meet up with some girl, Betty had simply rested her head on his shoulder. When she finally spoke, he could have cried right then and there, her reassuring words almost bringing him to his knees. 

“She’s the one missing out, Jug. Not you.”

The next memory was a happier one, a day spent at Sweetwater River just after their sophomore year. It had been Betty’s idea, a way of  _ rinsing off another year at Riverdale High _ , as she had put it. He smiled as he thought back to how carefree they had been that day, all of them playing in the water, taking turns swinging out into the deepest part using the rope that was tied to a tree branch that hung out over the river. 

They had all played chicken in the shallow water, Archie and Jughead hoisting the girls up into their shoulders, Veronica partnered with Archie, Betty with him. The two boys had stood facing each other, grins so wide that they threatened to permanently stretch their faces, as the girls on their shoulders grappled to push one another into the water. Jughead remembered only feeling happy that day, as the girl he loved, and had loved since the second grade, sat upon his shoulders, squealing with delight. It wasn’t often that Betty Cooper let loose from the tight grip that Alice had on her, but the moments that she did had a tendency of embedding into his mind. Her smile, wide and effervescent, her laugh, loud and unabashed, would stay forever in his memory. 

The top of Peekamoose Mountain provided a view that was unlike anything Jughead had ever seen. The leaves shining auburn, crimson, and gold in the midday sun were breathtaking, the only thing that could make it better was if she had been there to see it with him. He vowed, at that moment, that he would bring her back to this mountaintop when he found her, that she would get to see that view in all of its autumnal splendor. 

* * *

It was the week before Halloween and he had been trying to avoid Veronica for the past three days. He knew what she wanted to ask him, despite her boyfriend’s efforts of telling him that it wasn’t about the upcoming dance. He had to give Archie credit, his poker face was getting much better, but Jughead had known the redhead his whole life. Jughead would have been able to smell a lie on him a mile away. 

And so that was what led him to where he was, hiding in the boy's locker room during lunch, taking much longer than necessary to change after his P.E. period, avoiding the determined heiress. But he should have known better. Nothing as common as societal gender rules would scare off Veronica Lodge. Jughead rolled his eyes as he heard her voice echo off the lockers, barking at the boys to  _ calm down and get over themselves, I’m here for Jughead Jones.  _

Jughead wanted to melt into the locker at his back when the inevitable whooping and whistling started. Surely even the dumbest of jocks would know that Veronica would  _ never  _ be looking for him for the reason that they were insinuating. For a multitude of reasons, his lower station in life just being the first of many. 

Her black hair came into view and he drew himself up to full height, knowing that he had been spotted. 

“Veronica, nice to see you around these parts,” he commented sarcastically, cinching the towel around his waist a little tighter. It would do him no good to show Veronica anymore of himself than she could already see. She came to a standstill in front of him, hands placed daintily on her hips. He marveled for a moment over how such a small woman could look powerful even when so out of her element. 

“Jughead,” she greeted, “I have something to discuss with you.”

“Well, I certainly hope so, or else your coming into the boys’ locker room might be a bit ostentatious,” he sniped, grinning at the mocking scowl on her face. 

“Cute,” she replied, “It’s about the dance. Archie tells me you’re not coming. Of course, I told him he must be mistaken because we’ve had plans to go for months. Just because Betty -”

“Veronica,” he barked, a wave of simmering anger coming over him. He glanced around as every boy who had been watching their exchange quickly looked away, pretending that they weren’t paying attention to the two quasi-friends. 

“Listen, Jug,” He pulled his glare away from the students surrounding them and back to her, surprised when he saw something akin to sympathy in her eyes, “I know you miss her, we all do, but we can’t stop living just because she isn’t here right now. That’s not what she would want.”

He sighed, suddenly feeling more naked than he had when she had first walked in. It’s funny, he thinks. Here was this woman that he had always been wary of. She stood for everything he was against: consumerism, the elite class, excess, glitz and glamour, and yet, there was one thing they had always seen eye-to-eye on. Betty Cooper. 

The locker room was almost empty now, most students had finished changing and were on their way to the cafeteria. Jughead ran a hand down his face, wanting to at least make it look like he was possibly going to say no. He didn’t even know why he bothered, he and Veronica both knew that he would cave as soon as she mentioned Betty. She was his kryptonite, she always had been. 

“Fine,” he conceded, “but nothing too over the top.” 

The smile that she rewarded him with was blinding, followed by a sly tilt of her lips. “Me? Over the top? Never.” She twirled on her heel and flounced out of the room, her hair swinging behind her. Against his wishes, a smile crept across his lips. In that moment, Veronica reminded him of Betty more than she ever had before. Maybe it was her determination, or her satisfaction at knowing she had won, but as she walked away, Jughead was reminded why the two were such good friends. They shared the same drive, the same intensity, the same knack for convincing people to do things that they wouldn’t do otherwise. For a moment, it felt like Betty was still there, but then it crashed down around him, leaving him feeling empty. She wasn’t there. She was still out there, somewhere, and here he was, planning on going to dances. Guilt coursed through him strong enough to knock him to his knees, and his hand shot out to his locker to catch himself before his fell. 

He would go to the dance, but only because Betty was the one who had wanted him to go in the first place. As for the rest of his time, he needed to get his head back in the game and start looking at other alternatives to where she could be. 

He showed up at the dance, much to his chagrin. He hadn’t wanted to, but Veronica’s begging and pleading could only be ignored for so long. He had known the heiress long enough to know that she wouldn’t have dropped it. If he hadn’t had agreed, she probably would have just drug him into the limo that she had pulled up in to pick up Archie. 

So he was at the Halloween dance, against his better judgment. He had put minimal effort into his costume, but that had always been the plan.

Betty was a planner, to an almost unnerving level. She had been planning their costumes back in June and it was his turn to pick the theme. Usually, it was the three of them that dressed up, but with Archie in a relationship at the time of the planning, it had been decided that Archie and Veronica would do a couple’s costume and Jughead and Betty would be left to carry out their tradition without the redhead. 

He had chosen his theme after the movie that Betty thought was his favorite, Rebel Without a Cause. He would go as Jim Stark and Betty would have gone as Judy. Jughead could have changed his mind, could have gone as something else, but he wanted to stay true to her plan, feeling it would be a betrayal to change it. 

He had shown up to the dance in blue jeans, a white tank top, red sweater and slicked-back hair. As the boys had walked out to the limo, Veronica had told him he looked very ‘James Dean-esque’. As for Archie and Veronica, they were going as Mr. and Mrs. Smith, although Jughead was fairly sure Veronica had picked the costume just to see Archie in a tuxedo and to wear a dress that would be highly inappropriate at any other dance. 

He watched from the side of the gymnasium as his classmates ground and gyrated against each other, the thump of the bass loud enough to work its way into his very bones. Each pounding note that came from the speakers seemed to sink into his a little more, burying itself into the very fabric of his skin, until he began to feel as if he would never be able to rid himself of the obnoxious music that surrounded him. 

He stayed by the edge to begin with, trying desperately to blend in with the wall. Veronica and Archie did no such thing, the redhead grabbing his date's hand and all but dragging her onto the dance floor the moment they got there. Not him, though. He had never been much of a dancer, and he wasn’t about to change that now. He doubted he would even dance with Betty if she were there. 

His mind drifted to the blonde as he stood watching his classmates. He imagined what she would say if she were standing next to him. Her playful tone echoed in his mind. 

_ Come on, Juggie. Just one dance.  _

He would refuse, of course, probably prattle on some nonsense about how Jones men don’t dance, but then she would stick out her bottom lip, like she always did when he was being stubborn. Then she would bat her eyelashes at him and he would be a goner, just like he always was. 

He imagined what it would be like, dancing with her. He would only dance to a slow song, he would never debase himself enough to dance to the new pop that his peers eagerly listened to. They would walk out to the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by swaying bodies. She would be shy at first but when he smiled at her she would calm. He would wrap an arm around her waist and bring her close to him, close enough to feel the warmth of her body. Then he would gently take her other hand and they would start swaying, just like all the others around them. It would be perfect, and when the time was right, just as the song was dying down, he would lean in and…

“Jughead?” The voice was close and he slipped sideways from his place on the wall, barely catching himself in time. He looked around and saw Ethel standing beside him, looking embarrassed, even though he was the one who had been daydreaming about kissing his childhood best friend. 

“Sorry to scare you,” she murmured, “I just came over to ask if you wanted to dance?” Jughead was about to decline, but when he saw the open vulnerability on her face he found that he couldn’t say no. 

And so he nodded his head and grabbed her head, leading her out onto the dance floor. He smiled at her, trying his best to look comfortable. He placed a hand gently on her hip and took her hand and they moved to the music. Every once in a while, they would make eye contact and would both look away quickly. 

It wasn’t terrible, but it lacked the natural ease that he imagined he would have had with Betty. Their shared childhoods and long history created a serenity that couldn’t be duplicated. 

Jughead let go of Ethel as soon as the song ended, taking a step back from her. She looked like she was about to ask him to dance again and so he spoke quickly, “Thanks for the dance, Ethel. I have to go to the bathroom. I’ll catch up with you later.” 

He walked away and headed out the doors to the hall, mentally kicking himself for his lame excuse. She would know that he was ditching her, she wasn’t stupid. His insides were twisting with guilt. It was her that he was supposed to be dancing with, her who he was supposed to laugh and smile with, her he was supposed to kiss. Anything else was just a facade that he could try to hide behind, but it would never completely mask his feelings for Betty. She was everything, no one else would ever compare. 

The night was starting to die down, the DJ only playing slow songs for the few couples that remained. Well, couples and Jughead. He sighed as he drained the punch in his cup, wondering how pathetic he looked, the only single person left waiting dutifully for his disgustingly in love friends to remember he existed. At that moment, the two friends in question were swaying slowly, eyes locked on each other, grins that could only be described as brilliant covering their faces. 

The longer he watched them the more he felt it. A longing set deep in his chest that seemed to be trying to take him over. He wanted what they had, he'd wanted it for a long time. But the one person that he wanted it with wasn't there anymore. He wanted a do-over. He wanted to be able to go back in time and tell her how she felt before he couldn't. He wanted to hug her one last time. He wanted to walk down the halls with her again. And most of all he wanted to know what it felt like to press his lips against hers. To know what it meant to be completely encompassed in her. 

He had loved Betty Cooper for as long as he could remember, always been too scared to admit to her how he felt. He had always thought that he was content just being her friend. The risk of him telling her and her rejecting him was too great. He would rather live his life with her by his side and never tell her than risk the chance of losing her.

But in the end, it hasn't mattered. He'd still lost her. And what did he gained? If he told her sooner he could have at least had time with her. With each passing day that she was missing his hope that he would find her lessened. He was starting to descend into a dark, deep pit of despair, and the voices that echoed in his head telling him that he would never see her again got louder and louder. So why hadn't he told her when he had the chance?

Why had he been so scared? Did he really think that she would stop being his friend if she didn't return his feelings? She would never. That wasn't who Betty was. Things would have been awkward, but they would have gotten over it, they would have worked through it, and they would have stayed friends. In that Jughead could be sure. And so he realized with devastation, that he had held his tongue and wasted his chance for nothing.

Archie looked over at him at that moment and Jughead jerked his head towards the door, trying to relay to the redhead that he was going to take off. Either Archie understood what Jughead was trying to tell him or he was too blissfully happy to care too much because when Jughead walked out the door no one ran after him to ask why he was leaving. 

He walked the long way home, the moonlight shining down on his path as he walked through Fox Forest. It didn't take long to get back to the Andrews’ house, yet not nearly as long as he wanted it to. But instead of going up to his shared room with Archie, he went into the garage. Fred had completely revamped it after Archie had taken a liking to music, going so far as to soundproof the garage putting a drum kit and a couch in there.

Jughead laid down on that couch and looked up at the unfinished ceiling. He was too tall for the couch, resulting in his legs dangling over the end. He lay there looking up at the wooden slats above him, realizing that he didn't really have a place where he fit. 

He didn't fit at home with his dad. He didn't fit on the Southside, and he hated to admit it, but he didn't really fit at the Andrews’ house either. 

The one place that Jughead had truly felt that he fit had always been with her. The words  _ home is wherever where your heart is _ were words that he had once rolled his eyes at, not understanding at the time. He understood now. His heart was with Betty. 

But what happens when your home is a person, and then your person is gone? What happens when you don't have a safe place to land? 

When you feel all alone in the world? 

What happens then? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? Liked it? Hated it? Leave me a comment! Drop a kudos! Or head over to my Tumblr and come chat me up! I love hearing from you guys!


	5. December

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello there! Here I am, daring to come back to this story after another four-month hiatus. I don't really have an excuse. Christmas, babies, mental health, going back to work. Life gets crazy, but this chapter was demanding to be finished, so here you go!

Jughead sat on the couch, looking over the back out the large bay window in the Andrews living room. The sun was rapidly setting and he passively watched Christmas lights wink on. The months continued to pass quicker than he ever could have thought. It seemed like time was racing forward when all he wanted was for it to slow down. Every day that passed felt like another failure. Another loss.

So he found himself regularly wishing that the seconds would drag on, that time would cease to exist as it was. That he would be awarded an infinite amount of minutes, hours, day to do the one thing that he needed to do. 

It was entirely too deep into the winter season for him to try to continue searching on foot. Pristine snow had blanketed the state and he was smart enough to know that however deep the snow was in town, it would be even deeper out in the vast valleys of Peekamoose. 

However, the set back of snow had provided one and only one positive outcome. Seeing as he could no longer dump most of his paycheck worth of fuel into the gas-burning wreck that he called his own, he instead had taken out several missing person’s notices in the surrounding area around Peekamoose Valley and Riverdale. Betty’s face was plastered on several billboards and more milk cartons than he could count. He knew that Alice and Hal had done this as well, but he couldn’t bear to sit around doing nothing, resorting to renting out any ad space that the Cooper’s hadn’t covered already. 

He hadn’t gotten any leads yet, but he remained ever hopeful that one day he would get the call. It was Christmas, quite easily his second least favorite time of year, but it was her favorite. Maybe it was juvenile, but something deep in his soul was telling him that she would make it home for Christmas, that nothing would stop her from coming back to him to celebrate her favorite holiday. 

The first-place prize of his least favorite time of year always went to his birthday, a plethora of disappointing childhood memories always making sure that the aversion to the day of his birth was at the top of his list. But Christmas was always a close second. For every memory of happiness at Christmas time there were at least three negative ones to take its place.

There was the time his father had shown up drunk to their Christmas dinner. The time when his mother hadn't had enough money to even make a Christmas dinner, all that he had been privy to that evening had been canned beans and deli turkey. 

The time that his father had promised to get Jellybean a present for Christmas. Jughead at the ripe age of ten had even said that they could forego giving him his own present if it meant the Jellybean got one. His father swore up and down that the youngest Jones would absolutely be getting a present Christmas morning, but like every other promise his father made him, it was an empty one. Possibly worst of all, it had fallen into Jughead to explain to his sister at six in the morning that Santa must have forgotten their house. That's why she hadn't gotten a present that year. He had to explain to her for over an hour that she hadn't been forgotten because she was a bad girl, but simply because they had moved too close to Christmas and Santa must have not gotten their new address. 

Never mind that they had moved from their half-decent house on the south side to the shitty trailer in Sunnyside Park over three months prior. But Jellybean was too young and too trusting of Jughead to question his flawless logic. She wiped away her tears, nodded with an acceptance that he had never wanted to see on her face, and had sat on the couch, turning on cartoons. It had been one of the worst Christmases they had ever had. 

Jughead’s wandering thoughts were interrupted by the front door opening, a blast of cold air rushing into the house. He looked towards the hallway, waiting for either Fred or Archie to walk into the living room. Surprise washed over him, however, when neither man greeted him. 

“Jughead! Come here and give me a hug,” came a cheery voice. A smile burst across his face as he rose from the couch, rushing to meet the woman at the door. 

“Mrs. Andrews, what are you doing here? Archie didn’t tell me you were coming home for the holidays,” Jughead asked, sinking into the warm and safe arms that encircled him. In more ways that one, Mary had been the mother he had always wanted. Caring, involved, loving. She had been the only motherly figure he had had when his own mother abandoned him, and therefore she had a special soft spot in Jughead’s heart. 

He was secretly so glad to see her. He felt like he was falling apart at the seams, held together only by bits of string and what was left of his hope. 

“Well, I couldn’t leave my boys to their own devices,” Mary smiled, taking a step back from him, “Usually Bett -” Mary stopped, a look of regret flashing across her face. Jughead placed a hand on her arm, wanted her to know that he understood what she was saying. 

“Usually Betty makes sure we have a half-decent dinner,” Jughead chuckled, before bowing his head conspiratorially, “I had heard murmurings that we were going to be having TV dinners Christmas morning. Thank God you’re here,” he added. 

Mary smiled at him, the one that could light up a room, but he could see it in her eyes, that edging of concern and pity that he saw so often. 

“I’m okay, Mrs. Andrews.”

A pregnant pause laid between them before she spoke again, “Are you, really?”

Jughead almost could have laughed at the questions, but he didn’t want the sweet woman in front of him to think he was laughing at her. “Honestly, not even close. But I’m surviving.” 

Mary nodded, taking his words for what they were, the truth. 

“Well, I ordered take out for all of us. I figured there probably wouldn’t be too much for me to work with,” she joked. It was a long-running gag between the two exes, with Mary constantly cracking jokes about Fred’s cooking prowess. 

Truthfully, Fred did pretty well on the cooking front. He could grill with the best of them, did his best to provide at least some kind of vegetable with supper, and when all else failed, he knew every take-out number in Riverdale by heart. 

“Sounds good, Mrs. Andrews. Can I help you with anything?” It was still a habit to act like a guest in the Andrews home, even though he had been living with them for a while now. There was something about the house that just never quite felt like his own. 

Mary smiled at him, placing a hand gently on his cheek. “No, sweetie. Why don’t you go work on some homework? It’ll be a bit until the food gets here.” 

Jughead nodded and headed to the stairs, glancing over his shoulder to watch Mary take her small bag down to the basement. There was a small room downstairs, it wasn’t anything special. A bed and a dresser were all the room contained. The room had been offered to Jughead when he moved in, but Archie had begged him to share a room, and once he had agreed there was no turning back. 

He walked up the narrow staircase to their shared bedroom. It was a perfect mix of both Archie and himself. There were two single beds, one rammed against a wall on each side of the room. Riverdale Bulldogs banners and clipped Blue and Gold articles were hung haphazardly on the walls, no space left bare. On the clipboard above Jughead’s desk there were movie stubs, concert tickets, and polaroid photos hung in straight lines. Every memory had one common theme, Betty. She had gone to every hipster movie, every angsty concert, captured every memory on his old Polaroid camera that he had thrifted from the pawnshop in Greendale. 

Jughead flopped onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling with one arm under his head, one thrown across his stomach. He should have been working on his English paper, or even the many articles that he had to review for the Blue and Gold, but for now, he just wanted to rest. To feel his chest rise and fall, the air whoosh through his lungs, the sleepiness of content beginning to take him. It didn’t last long. Just as his eyes were starting to flutter, heavy footsteps raced up the stairs, the door blowing open and banging off the wall behind it. 

The loud boom caused Jughead to shoot up in his bed, greeted by Archie, face pale, eyes red and swollen. 

“Arch?” Jughead questioned, knowing that something was wrong, “What…”

“She broke up with me.” Archie interrupted, his eyes staring at the floor as he came to sit on the edge of his own bed. Jughead moved to sit on the edge of his bed, his eyes widening at the words hit him. 

“Veronica…”

Archie shuddered as he choked back a sob, grief rolling off of him in waves. Jughead froze for a moment, knowing that he should do something to comfort his friend, but also painfully aware that that had never been his role in their friend group. Betty was the comforter, not him. But at the sight of his best friend breaking down in front of him, he knew that he had to try his best, just like Archie had for him. 

Jughead knew that he had been a mess the last five months, and every time Archie had been there to give him a hug or an encouraging word. The least he could do for his friend was return the favor. 

Jughead moved off his bed to sit beside Archie, looping his arm around him. “What happened? You guys always seemed so happy,” Jughead waited for Archie to catch his breath, his body shaking with tears. 

“She...she said I’m different. That when we lost Betty it was like I lost the part of me that made me...me.” Jughead bristled at Veronica’s words. Betty wasn’t lost. She may be out of reach, but she would never be  _ lost.  _ She was a plaything, wasn’t something that could be carelessly misplaced, and could be recovered simply by cleaning up the mess that was his life. 

She was more than lost, to Jughead. It was like the memory of her was suspended in his mind. Hanging high above all his thoughts, residing over them like a monarch. Demanding every part of him to  _ pay attention _ , to simply  _ think harder, Jug _ , as if going over the details that he had poured over countless times one more time would do the trick. That somehow he would crack her disappearance wide open and everything would go back to normal. 

Archie’s soft sobs brought Jughead back to himself, his focusing shifting back to his friend. 

“She’s your best friend, Arch. Of course, you lost a piece of yourself. So did Veronica. We’re talking about the girl that pulled you out of Sweetwater River when you went too deep. That brought me food when she knew my dad was on a bender. Who loved Veronica so hard that she melted that icy exterior the devil woman had. She is the best part of all of us, and when she’s not around she takes it with her,” Jughead finished quietly. He hadn’t been expecting to admit that to Archie. It was a thought that he usually kept to himself, but it was one that he mulled over often. 

“How do I get it back then?” Archie questioned, his big brown eyes shining in the dim light of the room. Jughead weighed his words carefully. He and Veronica didn’t have the best track record. In fact, he was sure that only maintained civility at some points for Betty and Archie’s sake. It wasn’t like he was happy that Archie was no longer with the heiress. Veronica made Archie happy, for unfathomable reasons, but nevertheless, that was all Jughead wanted for Archie. Happiness. 

“I don’t know if we can,” Jughead began, “Sometimes I feel like I won’t be fully whole until she comes back.” 

Jughead startled as Archie jerked his head up to look him in eyes. There was a look on concern there was Jughead was all too familiar with, and he immediately regretted what he had said. His belief that Betty would come back was something he had learned to keep close to his chest. 

“Jug, you can’t honestly think she is still out there?” Jughead felt his hackles rise at the question, immediately feeling defensive. Why was it so ridiculous that he thought Betty was okay?

He didn’t make fun of Archie when he thought the Bulldogs might actually go to playoffs. He didn’t openly cackle at Veronica when she spoke of living a simple life after graduation. Why was he not allowed to share his convictions? 

Jughead drew himself up, sitting straight as a rod, “That is exactly what I think, and you know that,” he finished in an angry whisper. He felt a wave of rage wash over him as Archie’s eyes shifted from concern to pity. It made Jughead’s stomach roll with nausea. 

“Maybe…” Archie started, hesitating for a moment. 

“Maybe what, Archie? Why don’t you just say it? I know you’ve been thinking it for a while, so just - ”

“Maybe it’s time to let her  _ go, _ ” Archie shouted, his chest heaving with the effort. Jughead felt himself lean away from his friend, unintentionally backing off from the aggression in his voice. Some small part of him still afraid of raised voices and confrontation. 

They sat there in the silence that hung between them like something rotting on a summer’s day, sticky and pungent. 

Jughead stood without realizing he was standing, his legs taking him to the door. 

“Jug,” a hand shot out and grabbed Jughead’s sleeve, stopping him for a moment. “I’m sorry. I know,” a sigh heaved out of the boy, “I know you love her. Like, actually love her. Not friend love her, and I -” 

Jughead ripped his arm out of Archie’s grasp, not wanting to hear the red head’s justifications or sympathies. 

“You know how I feel about her, and you still can say that I should  _ let her go _ ?”

“No, I mean, that’s not -”

“If the roles were reversed, and it was Veronica that was missing, would you be able to let her go?”

Archie sputtered a little more before choking out a feeble, “If it was hopeless, I think I’d have to...to stay sane.” 

Jughead stared at his friend and felt nothing other than disgust at the moment. He scoffed, turning to the door once again, tossing his parting words over his shoulder. 

“If you loved Veronica even  _ half  _ as much as I love Betty, you would know that you could never move on from this.”

Jughead walked out the door, slamming it behind him, cutting off the partially formed sentence that Archie was speaking to him. He rushed down the stairs, his socked feet whisking him swiftly down to the front door, where he jammed his toes into his boots, barely taking enough time to lace them before hurrying out the door. He could hear Mary heading for the door, and the last thing he wanted was to be comforted. 

He walked out into the cold, letting it settled into his bones as he marched down the street, cutting through the Sparrow’s yard. Their house backed onto the park, which was the fastest way to get off the street and into Fox Forest. 

He stomped through the snow and underbrush, hoping that every step would make him feel lighter, but the distance only succeeded in making him feel heavy with grief and regret. 

Grief for Betty, as much as he tried to push away the feeling. Grief meant there was an acknowledgment of loss, and he was stubbornly refusing to round that corner. 

Regret for leaving Archie the way he did. When he needed comfort, Archie was always there. And now that his friend needed him, where was he? Storming off into the forest after dark, essentially pouting because he was disgusted by Archie’s lack of conviction. But that wasn’t Archie’s fault, Jughead realized. It wasn’t Veronica’s fault either. How could either of them truly understand exactly what Jughead was feeling, when they themselves had never felt it before. How could they empathize with him? He knew that they loved each other, that they were probably  _ endgame _ , as Veronica would say.

But he could help but feel like their love was different from the love he felt for Betty. His love was all-consuming and life-giving. It entrenched every fiber of his being, until sometimes he felt like all he was love itself. An embodiment of the emotion. 

The love he hadn’t wasn’t selfish. He would go on loving her every day without even a thought of what was in it for him. It was enough to be near her. He didn’t have to have her, for her to be his and his alone. Although now that she wasn’t there, in his atmosphere, he wanted to kick himself for how many times he left an opportunity to tell her how he felt slip through his fingers. 

Veronica and Archie were like insatiable, rabid wolves. So deeply in love that they would tear each other apart to get what they needed, never full, never satisfied. 

He came to a halting stop at that thought, throwing himself to sit on a boulder that was near him. It was cold against his backside, his jeans the only barrier between his sensitive flesh and frozen rock. 

That was his problem. There was no feeling of dissatisfaction. There was no hunger lit deep in his belly. His love for Betty felt more like a well. Any time he felt short on the emotion, he could send down a bucket and draw more up. The well had never failed him. There was always water there, metaphorically speaking, of course. But now, in her absence, it felt more and more like the well was running dry. 

He knew it didn’t make sense. That he didn’ have to see her every day to know how he felt. If he were being honest with himself, if he were capable of having a truthful conversation with his inner monologue, he would know exactly why the well felt like it was dangerously close to empty. 

You can’t draw up water from where it doesn’t exist. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! What did you think? Loved it? Hated it? Let me know! I love hearing from you guys, so drop a kudos or a comment! And if you want to chat, I'm always over on my Tumblr, crescentmoonmadness!


	6. March

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohmygod, are you telling me that it only took three weeks to get the next chapter out, instead of four months? Who even am I? Truly, a literary marvel. (I'm obviously kidding, bad I'm so damn happy with how quickly this chapter came together, don't take this away from me.) 
> 
> Get your tissues ready and strap in. I somehow managed to make myself cry while writing this, because I'm an asshole and love angst more than I love breathing.

The months were passing despite the fact that Jughead begged them not to. Each month, hell each  _ day, _ that passed signified another failure, another loss. The snow was melting, leaving behind sludgy pools of muck everywhere. 

Christmas had passed with little fanfare. His and Archie’s fight had put a damper on the holiday. Their silence had lasted two weeks before Archie finally caved. Jughead was secretly glad that Archie had called a truce, he didn’t have too many people in his life that he could confide in, and without Archie to talk to, the number was dangerously close to zero.

They had hugged, apologized, and made up, carrying on as if nothing was different. But in the back of Jughead’s mind, he knew that it was. There had been a line drawn in the proverbial sand. Sure, Archie supported Jughead and offered to help hang up posters with Betty’s face on them, but he knew that Archie was doing it more out of pity than conviction. 

His fight with Archie had only just been resolved when Cheryl came to him. It was the first time he could honestly say he saw kindness in her eyes. She needed to find another girl to fill Betty’s spot on the River Vixens. They were going to start competitions soon, and they needed a full roster. He had nodded his head, feeling defeated, but also surprised that Cheryl had even had the foresight to come and talk to him first. He had given her the go-ahead, even though it killed him. Betty had worked so hard for that spot. 

However, his and Archie’s fight, and Betty’s Vixen status, were the least of his worries. He should have known. Bad things always came in threes. No, that number one spot was reserved for the latest of Alice Cooper’s endeavors. 

It had first been brought up over dinner by Fred. They were eating meatloaf in silence when the older man cleared his throat and spoke up. 

“So, have you boys heard anything from Alice this week?”

For a moment, Jughead’s heart jumped into his throat. Had they found her? Surely they would have told him the moment they had. Or he would have seen it on the news. His emotions must have been displayed plainly on his face because Fred continued on with a pained look on his face. 

“There’s going to be a memorial on Saturday, at the Riverdale Hall.” 

Jughead furrowed his brow. “Did someone pass away?” His stomach turned at the look of compassion that Fred gave him. Now he understood plainly. But instead of sadness welling up in him, all he felt was fury, thick and heavy in his veins. 

He didn’t even bother speaking. He pushed himself back from the table, supper forgotten, chair clattering to the floor. He was out the door before Fred even had a chance to get out of his seat, slamming the door behind him. 

Jughead wouldn’t consider himself an athletic person, so even he was surprised by his body’s ability to sprint across the driveway and jump clear over the three-foot fence that separated the Coopers and Andrews driveways. He was at the door in a heartbeat, his fist coming down harshly against the oak. 

“Mrs. Cooper! Open the door!” He shouted at the door, not caring what the neighbors thought. He was about to shout again when the door flung open, revealing a severe-looking Alice Cooper. 

“Forsythe Pendleton Jone the Third. What on  _ earth  _ do you think you are doing?”

“A memorial?” he said by way of answering. “She’s not dead! You have no proof that she is, so what the  _ fuck  _ are you doing having a memorial? Memorial’s are for people who are dead and -” 

“How dare you come to  _ my home  _ and question my choices concerning  _ my daughter _ , you -”

“Alice!” A voice boomed out from behind her, silencing the both of them for a moment. It was only then that Jughead realized that Archie and Fred were watching from the driveway, horror plain as day in Archie’s eyes. 

“Jughead,” Hal said, softer this time, “please come inside.” Jughead reared back at the invitation, thinking that after his outburst he would be unwelcome at the Cooper household for the rest of his life. By the look of indignance on Alice’s face, her thoughts were along the same lines as well. 

“Hal, you are not going to invite this Serpent wannabe into our home, especially after his display tonight. You must be crazy to think I’ll go along with this and furthermore -”

“Furthermore,” Hal interrupted, “I’d like to keep some of our dignity as a family intact, and shouting at teenagers on our doorstep isn’t going to achieve that.” Jughead would have laughed at the look on Alice’s face if he didn’t think that Hal would slam the door in his face if he did just that. 

“Alice, regardless if you like it or not, Jughead cares about our daughter, more than probably any other friend would. He deserves an explanation.” 

The three of them stood there, waiting for Alice’s decision, which she gave by a small nod of her head. She stood back from the door, allowing Jughead to walk through. He nodded to Archie and Fred before he fully crossed the threshold, hoping that would be enough to get them to go back to their own dinner. 

As he walked into the living room, he heard the front door close quietly behind him, along with two sets of feet following him. He sat on the couch, watching intently as the two Cooper’s sat across from him. He wasn’t really sure what to say know. His anger was slowly dissipating. Not completely fading, he was still furious about their decision, but the rage was easing off. 

“We should have told you first,” Hal started, “I realize that now. We should have sat you down and let you know the moment we made this decision, and I’m sorry that we didn’t.”

Jughead nodded, feeling blindsided by Hal’s compassion once again. Too often he lumped Hal in with Alice, marking him as some calculating, cold-hearted man who married a ruthless beast. But it was times like this that reminded Jughead of the compassion the Cooper patriarch was capable of. 

“Why did you?” Jughead asked, “Make this decision, I mean.”

Alice sighed from her chair, her face still pinched with either anger or inconvenience. “It’s been nine months, Jughead. Nine months and no new leads, no anonymous tips, not a trace of her.” 

Alice sounded, in that moment, so  _ heavy. _ Like she head lead boots tied to her feet and she was dropped in the ocean. Jughead realized that he hadn’t been thinking about this from their perspective. That was something that he had always struggled with. Empathy. That was why he needed Betty. She was the embodiment of his empathy. 

“We need some closure,” Hal continued, “We need to start healing, and until we admit this to ourselves, it’s going to remain an open wound. We just… we need to let Betty go.” 

Jughead’s throat constricted as he heard Hal choke up, emotion thick in his voice. He looked at Alice and saw her eyes shining with unshed tears. How could he have been so unaware? Was this how everyone else in his life felt? Like they just wanted to heal, and there he was ripping open the scar every time it threatened to close up. 

“I’m sorry,” Jughead whispered, “I’ve just been so focused on finding her that I - I never thought about anyone else - about what they might want.”

“We don’t fault you for that Jughead,” Hal comforted him, “We admire your passion, and your strength, we just… we can’t do it anymore.” 

Jughead nodded, feeling a heavy weight in his chest. He didn’t know what to say next. For once, he was speechless. 

“Come with me,” Hal moved to stand, waiting for Jughead to follow, “We have something that we want to give to you.” Jughead stood, shooting Alice a questioning look, but her eyes were trained on the flames that were crackling in the fireplace. He followed Hal up the stairs, his curiosity only growing when the man opened the door to Betty’s room and ushered Jughead in. 

He watched as Hal walked over to the window seat, a stack of journals sitting there. Hal picked them up and walked back to Jughead, a sad smile gracing his lips. 

“We wanted you to have these. We know how much you both loved writing.”

Jughead’s heart caught in his throat. “Mr. Cooper, I can’t - I mean, - what about you and Mrs. Cooper?”

“Well, we aren’t giving them to you forever. More of a loan. We - it hurts too much,” Hal stalled for a moment, “We aren’t ready to go through them yet, but we thought that you should have them until we are.”

Jughead carefully took the books from the man in front of him, setting them on the desk. He wrapped his arms around the man in front of him, finally letting the tears that had been threatening to fall for weeks go. They stayed like that for a moment, Jughead holding onto Hal, crying into his sweater, before Hal slowly brought his arms up to wrap around Jughead, crushing him in a bruising hug. 

“I miss her,” Jughead choked out, “God, I miss her. I don’t - I don’t know how to live without her.” 

Another set of arms wrapped around him, and only then did he realize that Alice must have come upstairs and, consequently, heard what Jughead had said. 

“Neither do we,” Alice sobbed into his back, her chest shaking slightly. She pulled back after who knows how long. It could have been seconds, it could have been hours. Jughead released Hal, turning halfway to face both Coopers. Alice reached up a hand to gently wipe away a tear from Jughead’s face. “None of know how to do this, that’s why we need each other.”

Jughead simply nodded, suddenly feeling like he wasn’t so alone, for the first time in a long time. 

Later, when he was laying in bed, he would admit to himself that he would never be able to look upon Alice Cooper with disdain. She had let him see her shattered heart, and she had seen his. Whether he liked it or not, they were bonded through tragedy, and the animosity that they had always upheld had dissipated quicker than fog on a sunny day. 

Archie was sleeping silently beside him, so he flicked on his lamp and picked up one of the weathered journals that he had brought home with him. He ran his hands over the front of it, breathing the smell of her room that clung to its pages in deeply. He wanted to open it. Wanted to read her innermost thoughts, but just like the Coopers. He wasn’t ready. Maybe after the memorial. Maybe not.

He shows up in a black suit, like he should. But he keeps the beanie, like he shouldn’t. Veronica had told him, gently, that he should take it off. That it wasn’t respectful. But that was bullshit. Betty loved his beanie, she teased him about it all the time. So he wasn’t wearing it for him, he was wearing it for her. Once he told Veronica that, she let it go, thankfully. 

The three of them showed up together, walking into the church with everyone looking at them like they were pariahs. Veronica, in an uncharacteristic showing of vulnerability, looped her hands around Archie’s arm. They were still broken up, but that didn’t mean that they didn’t care about another. He could almost hear the whispers as they walked. 

_ Those poor children.  _

_ Too young for this kind of grief. _

_ Did you know they were with her when it happened? _

_ What were they doing up in the mountains unsupervised? _

It was nothing he hadn’t heard before, whispered in the hallways of Riverdale High, the booths at Pop’s the aisles of the grocery store. So he jutted his chin out, grabbing Veronica’s hand to complete the chain. If they were going to make a spectacle, they might as well do a good job. 

Jughead would be the first to admit that they hadn’t been the most cohesive unit, part of that was due to Archie and Veronica’s breakup, but part of it was him. He had pushed them away, had been doing so since the day they lost her. But lately, he had been starting to wonder if being alone in his grief was better than sharing the load. Than asking for help. 

They all sat together in the front row. Alice and Hal, Polly and Jason with the twins in tow, following behind. There they say, an unlikely group of people, connected in so few ways but only one that really mattered. 

To be honest, once the memorial started, Jughead had a hard time listening. The reverend spoke of bright lights doused too soon, of lives unlived. It was all he could do to sit and stare at the picture of her at the front of the room without wanting to run away as far and as fast as he could. So he sat there, alphabetizing the complete works of Edgar Allan Poe, fidgeting with his program, before Veronica reached down and stilled his hands, winding her fingers in between his. He glanced over at her to see a sad quirk of her lips and to see that her other hand was being held on to tightly by Archie. 

Just like with Hal and Alice, Jughead realized that he was now part of another group, one that truly felt like he belonged. He might not have always viewed Veronica as  _ his, _ like he did with Betty and Archie, but he was realizing that she was. She was a part of his life, and because she wanted to be, not out of obligation. He hated that it took something like this for him to realize that, but now that he did, he would never take her friendship for granted again. 

He stepped out into the fresh air as soon as the memorial was finished, hating the feeling of breathing stuffy air laden with sadness. He started walking down the steps, his brain a scramble of unprocessed emotions and barriers being slammed into place, when Veronica rushed out the door and grabbed onto his arm, halting his movement. 

“Jughead, do you want to hop in with Archie and me to go to the reception?” His heart stilled for a moment, panic wracking his body. He felt out of control, like if he let even the tiniest piece of himself slip, he would spiral down into a deep dark pit of despair. He needed to keep it together, if only for a few more moments. 

He plastered his saddest smile across his face and gently shook his head. “No, I think I’m going to walk. I need the fresh air.” The words came out even and measured, despite the fact that he felt the exact opposite. 

Veronica nodded in understanding, “Do you want me to join you? Archie can just meet us there and -”

“No,” he said firmly, watching as she startled at the harshness in his voice. He felt bad, truly. For being sharp, for lying. She didn’t deserve it. He spoke softer, pulling her in for a hug, “I just need a few minutes to myself. I’ll meet you there, I promise.” 

When he pulls back he sees the shock displayed openly on Veronica’s face and realizes that that was more than likely the first and only time he had voluntarily touched her. 

He turned and walked down the steps before he could second guess himself. He walked along the road until the church was out of sight. He checked over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching, then ducked into the brush. The reception was at the town hall, which was up the street a block, but he had no intention of heading to a reception where he could hear people lament of a girl who wasn’t dead. 

He cut off through the trees, trying to remember the fastest way back to the Andrews house. It had been a long time since he had snuck through people’s back yards and bushes. Probably not since they were children, playing town-wide games of home free. 

It only took him about ten minutes to get back to Archie’s house. He knew he didn’t have a lot of time. Veronica wasn’t stupid, and she would catch on that he was missing soon enough. He unlocked the front door with the spare key under the mat, replacing it carefully, before running up the stairs, taking them three at a time. 

He had made the decision about halfway through the memorial. It was starting to get nice out now, almost all the snow had melted, and he had just spent an entire winter sitting around doing nothing, making no progress. He had to get back up to Peekamoose, if only to quell the anxiety that rattled endlessly through his body. 

As soon as he burst through their shared bedroom’s door, he started stripping off his stuffy suit, throwing the clothes on his bed haphazardly. He threw on some clothes and grabbed his duffle bag, throwing in a spare set of clothes and some snacks that he had stashed under his bed. He grabbed his keys and started heading for the driveway when his phone rang. He came to a dead stop, hoping that it wasn’t Veronica or Archie calling to ask him where he was. He slowing pulled his phone out of his pocket, sighing in relief when he didn’t recognize the number on the screen. 

“Hello?” he answered cautiously. 

“Hi, is this Jughead?” came an unfamiliar voice. 

“Yes, who is this?”

“Well, I remember seeing your signs up around town here. I live out by Sundown and I was just taking a drive up the mountain when I saw her.”

Jughead’s heart stopped beating, “Saw who?” he asked urgently. 

“Well now, I saw something out of the corner of my eye, looked like a young girl with blonde hair, but when I turned to get a decent look, there was nothing there. I remembered that someone had been looking for a young blonde in the fall, so I looked up your number from one of the posters. Just thought I should let you know.”

Jughead sputtered for a moment, willing his heart to start beating. “Tha- Thank you, sir. I’ll follow up on it. Do you remember exactly where it was that you saw her?”

“About two mile up Porcupine Club Road, on the right-hand side. There’s a huge boulder sitting beside the road. You can’t miss it.”

“Thank you,” Jughead choked out, hanging up quickly. After that, everything was a blur. He vaguely remembered stopping at a gas station and stocking up of fuel and food. He barely remembered the ride down the interstate, all he heard was the static from the radio and the words from the man playing in his mind over and over again. 

_ Blonde...side of the road….there then gone….Porcupine Club Road….big boulder. _

Once he pulled off the interstate and started heading down smaller and smaller roads he began to come back into his body. He paid attention, listening carefully to his phone’s GPS to tell him where to turn. He started up Porcupine Road and watched the right-hand side of the road carefully, all but slamming to a stop when he finally saw a large boulder around the two-mile point. 

He pulled the truck over to the edge as best as he could and put the truck in park. He stared at the forest, so much of it he had trekked before the winter. It almost felt like he was coming home again. He took a deep breath before grabbing his phone and his flashlight, shoving a few protein bars in his pocket along with a bottle of water, and getting out of the truck. He locked it quickly and buried his keys in his pocket, walking up to the boulder. He put his hand on the massive stone and closed his eyes, hoping that if he listened hard enough, if he just  _ listened _ , maybe the bushes, the trees, the moss, would whisper to him that she had been there. Thay they may give him some hope. 

He heard nothing. He gave himself a shake, momentarily disgusted in his childishness, before plunging into the thick canopy of trees and underbrush. 

He had been walking for about an hour before he saw anything other than trees and bushes. There was a scrap of cloth stuck to a branch. He rushed over to it and tried to remember what she had been wearing the day she went missing. His mind was blank. He couldn’t remember. But he was sure it wasn’t something like this. The scrap of fabric was a light blue, almost white, and tissue paper thin. 

Jughead shoved the fabric in his pocket and began walking again, and while he walked his mind wandered. A niggling feeling of self-doubt crept into his mind, latching on tightly. There was still snow hidden in some places, where the Spring sun couldn’t quite find it. He knew that winters up in Peekamoose were harsh, feet upon feet of snow, bone-chilling winds, little to no civilization. The thought kept creeping back in, and every time he did, he would shove it away, only for it to come back again.  _ If she were still alive, why would she still be in the forest, and how could she had survived the winter.  _

They had always talked about disappearing in the night. Had spent so many nights in the Andrews treehouse, staring up at the stars, dreaming of how much better life could be. They would run away from all the responsibilities, the expectations, from their parents. They would move to New York, where they could be anonymous, change their last names, and start over. They could be their own people, no longer Betty Cooper, perfect daughter, and Jughead Jones, Southside trash. They could be whatever they wanted to be. 

They could write, and go to school, and live together as friends, and fall in love with whoever they wanted. Well, that was always Betty’s dream. Jughead’s dream was to fall in love with her. It always had been. Even now. 

Maybe she did it, he thinks for a moment. Maybe she followed through on their plan. Maybe she disappeared without a trace, moved away. Maybe she wasn’t lost, just gone. Maybe she had started over, just without him. 

It had started to snow by then, large, ticky flakes falling faster and faster, but Jughead had worked himself up into a rage that blinded him from noticing. Why would she leave him behind? How could she do that to him? They had always promised that they would escape together. And she had left him behind. She had taken the one person that he couldn’t live without, and vanished, taking his heart with her. 

She was selfish, he thought, pushing through the underbrush and deepening snow with malice. She was selfish and inconsiderate and obtuse and  _ how,  _ he stalled, choking on tears that he hadn’t realized were falling.  _ How could she leave him? _ Why did she want to hurt him like this? He looked up, seeing nothing but the waning light. He fished out his flashlight and flicked it on, finally seeing how deep the snow had become, finally realizing that his fingers were numb from the cold, his breath freezing in a cloud of ice before him. He needed to get back to his truck. 

He glanced around, only then realized that he had been walking aimlessly for God knows how long. He reached into his other pocket, pulling out his phone. He tried to unlock it, but his fingers were so cold that they wouldn’t register on the screen. 

Jughead groaned in frustration and buried his hands in his hair under his beanie, cursing himself for not bringing gloves. He stood there for a few minutes until his fingers had thawed and he was able to open his phone. Fifteen missed calls. Three from Archie, two from Fred, and a whopping ten from Veronica, along with innumerable missed texts that started by being concerned, and ended in anger. He went into his maps, trying to find his location. The little blue circle popped up and he could have cried from joy. He had just enough service for his GPS to find him. He zoomed out and made his best guess for where he had parked his truck, and started heading towards it. A notification lit up his screen. 

_ Low Battery. 10% _

He sighed in frustration, cursing himself for not being better prepared. His phone was almost dead, he had let himself search until it was dark, something he usually avoided, and he had lost his way. 

The sun was almost completely hidden behind the horizon by the time Jughead finally broke through brush and stumbled onto the road. His guessing hadn’t been as good as he had hoped, but he could see his truck about three hundred yards down the road. He started to shuffle towards the truck, knowing that warmth and food awaited him there. He hadn’t realized how much it had snowed, his boots catching in the drifts that had begun to pile up on the road. 

When he finally made it to his truck, he reached a frozen hand into his pocket, shakily pulling out his keys. He tried to focus on getting the key into the lock on the door, but his vision had started to fuzz around the edges, making everything hazy. 

He gave his head a shake, hoping that it would clear his sight enough for him to get inside the truck and out of the snow. He tried again to put the key in the hole, but just as he got it to the door, his body let loose a shudder, his fingers fumbling with the keys and dropping them. 

“No!” he shouted through clenched teeth, another shudder wracking his frame. He bent down slowly, sifting through the snow to retrieve his dropped keys. It took him a few moments, but eventually his fingers grasped the ice cold metal. 

He placed his hand on the side of the truck, holding himself as steady as he could. He took as deep a breath in as he could, the biting air forming icicles in his chest. 

“Come on,” he muttered under his breath, slowly bringing the key to the door once more. He shook again, but was ready this time, and held tight to the keys. He would have jumped for joy if he hadn’t been frozen solid when the key finally made its way fully into the lock. He turned it quickly and ripped open the door, clambering inside the cab. 

Adrenaline was now rushing through his body from his victory, but he knew it wouldn’t last long. He had been in Cub Scouts with Archie as a child, only for a few years, but long enough for him to know the symptoms of hypothermia. He was already starting to feel tired, his frozen body greedily eating up the energy from his adrenaline to try and raise his core temperature. Fumbling hands, drowsiness, and shallow breathing, all symptoms that he was presenting. He held up a hand to see if he was still shivering and nearly cursed aloud when he saw that he wasn’t. The body stopped shivering as a last-ditch attempt to conserve energy. He grabbed his keys and jammed them into the ignition, turning hard, knowing that if he could get the heater turned on, he might have a chance. The truck sputtered but refused to turn over. 

“Fuck off, you piece of shit,” he shuddered, his eyelids starting to droop. Jughead knew well enough that he had messed up. He hadn’t told anyone where he was going. He had put himself in a position where he had gotten lost in the woods, in a snowstorm, no less. His fingers were stiff as he tried turning the keys again, watching hopelessly as his fumbling hands knocked them from the ignition. They clattered to the floor of the truck, the sounds of his agonized cries muffled by the snow outside the doors. 

Jughead felt himself slump over, his head landing softly on the seat. Muddled memories of running through the forest played behind his closed lids. The sun was shining, bouncing off her effervescent hair. She was laughing, squealing with delight. He smiled at her, loving hearing the sound of her laughter after so long. The sun warmed his skin and felt happy for the first time in a long time. 

She was running toward him and his heart raced as she neared him. Her face morphed from happiness to terror, and he cocked his head in confusion. What was she scared of? She looked behind her, her laughter turning into a scream. He watched, unable to move, unable to understand, as a pair of arms grabbed her waist, yanking her back viciously. She pulled at the arms, but couldn’t break free. The sun faded overhead, the entire scene fading to black. The last thing he saw was her face, disfigured by terror, her voice crying across the expanse that separated them. 

_ “Find me, Jughead!” _

* * *

His head was throbbing, and he heard the low whine of fluorescents overhead. He could feel something underneath him, but it certainly wasn’t the interior of his truck. Jughead cracked one eye open, assaulted by brights lights and the smell of disinfectant. A low groan escaped his mouth, his body sore and stiff. There was a rustling and then, much to Jughead’s shock, his father appeared in front of him. 

“Jug? You awake?” Jughead stared in disbelief at the man in front of him. He was the last person that Jughead would expect to see at his bedside, and that thought alone filled him with contempt. “Nurse...Nurse! He’s awake.”

Jughead laid there, confused, trying to arrange his memories in a way that made sense to him. He had been in the forest. It had started to snow. He knew that he had been lost. But he hadn’t told anyone where he was going. How did he end up in a hospital?

A nurse came in then, hovering over him, scribbling down numbers that were displayed on the monitor beside him. It was only then that he realized how many wires were hooked up to him. Surely, he couldn’t have been in that bad of shape?

It took a few moments for the nurse to finish writing, and when she did she turned to face where Jughead presumed his father was sitting. “He needs to take it easy still. Try to get him to sip on some water. The doctor will be in soon to talk about the next steps.”

“Thanks, Dolores,” FP murmured. There was silence for a moment, then the scrape of a chair being pulled across the floor. Jughead turned his head slightly, his neck stiff with sleep, to see his father sitting beside the edge of his bed. He had absolutely no clue what to say to the man before him.  _ Hey, Dad. Glad you’re here now that I landed myself in the hospital. What have you been up to? Did you have a nice break from being a responsible adult?  _ He was furious with his father, but the anger seemed to suck the energy right out of him, like it was siphoning his life force. 

In the end, he didn’t have to worry about what to say. FP chuckled humorlessly then looked up at Jughead, with what appeared to be concern evident on his face. “What were you doing, Jug? You could have gotten yourself killed.”

Jughead scoffed in contempt, “Since when have you ever cared about my wellbeing,” he ground out. He felt guilty about the hurt look that played across his father’s face for a moment, then he remembered how he had been abandoned. 

“That’s not fair, Jug. You know that I had to leave. I needed to get away from the Serpents, before you got drug into my mess.”

“Right,” Jughead scathed, recalling the final he had with his father on the phone. 

_ Dad, where are you? _

_ I, uh, I need to get out of town for a while, son. The Serpents are out for blood, and… _

_ Ok, so when are we leaving? _

_ Oh, Jug. Um...You see, the thing is…. _

_ You already left. You left me behind, just like Mom. _

Jughead had hug up after that, blocking his father’s number. He hadn’t heard from him in over six months. 

“Where have you  _ been,  _ Dad? This whole time...I’ve been,” his voice caught on the tears that were lodged in his throat, “I’ve been falling apart. I needed you, and  _ once again _ , you weren’t there.” 

FP had enough common sense to at least look ashamed. “I’m sorry, son. I came back as soon as Fred called me. You needed me, and -”

“I do not need you,” Jughead seethed, “You made damn sure of that. Made sure that I knew I could never rely on anyone but myself. You, Mom, Jellybean. You all left me. None of you actually care about me. None a single one of you. Do you know who I need? I need  _ her _ . Betty. She’s my family. The Andrews are my family. Family is there, no matter what. They don’t walk out, they don’t leave when it gets hard. They stay.”

“Jug, I-”

“Just go, Dad. I’ll take care of myself, like I always have.” Jughead watched as his father looked at him. He saw so many things when he looked at his father. A failed gang leader, an alcoholic, a failed husband, an absent father. But most of all, he saw a broken man. A man who had never had to take responsibility for his actions. He just ran away from them at full speed. He almost wanted to take back his words. To tell his dad to stay. That they could try again.

But then Jughead remembered all the times his father had let him down, all the horrible childhood memories he had of his father drunk and unable to do a damn thing for his family. No, his father wasn’t going to change, and inviting him back into his life was only going to land Jughead one thing. More heartbreak. 

He turned his gaze away from his father, not wanting to see the hurt that was there. He couldn’t lose anything else in his life. Better to keep things the way they were. 

After what seemed like an eternity, he heard a sigh, then footsteps that faded down the hallway. Jughead let out a breath that he hadn’t known he had been holding. He looked up at roof, feeling his throat tighten as tears pricked at his eyes. His breaths came harshly, and he wiped a hand roughly across his face. He had made the right decision, so why did he feel so terrible?

He ended up staying in the hospital for three more days while they tried to get his fluids up. He had all kinds of visitors, but it was mostly Fred, Mary, Archie, and Veronica. He was told that it was Archie who had found him. After he hadn’t shown up to the reception, Veronica had expressed her concern that Jughead would do something rash. In a moment of true inspiration, Archie had channeled his inner Betty, that was how he described to Jughead anyway, and called Jughead’s cell phone provider, claiming to be his father. He had asked for all of Jughead’s recent calls, and had followed up with the tipper Jughead had spoken to. After that, he and Fred had jumped in their truck and rushed all the way to Peekamoose. 

Archie had told Jughead that he had never been more scared in his life. 

“I thought I was going to lose you too, Jug. I couldn’t...God, I couldn’t live through losing another friend.” 

Jughead had felt appropriately selfish after that. He hadn’t been thinking about anyone but himself when he had left Riverdale. Hadn’t thought about how his actions affected others.

Fred and Archie had found Jughead’s truck easily enough and had called 911 as soon as they had seen the shape he was in. 

“You were barely breathing, I was terrified that you had froze to death.” Another wave of guilt. 

They had brought him to an emergency room in a town not too far away from the Valley, then transferred him to Riverdale after a day. It had taken him two full days to finally wake up, and during that time Fred had finally managed to get ahold of FP and tell him what happened. 

Jughead still felt guilty about sending his father away, wondering if he had been too harsh now that his anger had dissipated. He had asked Fred, once they were alone, what the older man thought he should do. 

“Well, Jug, sometimes people make selfish decisions because that’s all they know how to do. FP has lived a hard life, long before you kids or your mom were around. Growing up how he did, it leaves scars.”

“That doesn’t excuse how he acts,” Jughead pointed out.

“No,” Fred conceded, “it doesn’t. But no one can make this decision for you, Jug. The way I see it, you have two options. You can believe that your father is capable of becoming a better man, and you can support him through it. Or you can choose to not have him in your life. Either way, I’ll support your decision.” 

Jughead had sat for a moment, thinking intently. “If… if my dad moved back to Riverdale, would I have to move out?” He had jumped in his bed at the cacophonious chortle of laughter that exploded from Fred. 

“Jughead, you will always have a place at my home. You’re my son.” 

Jughead had cried that night after everyone had left. Really cried. He cried for his father, for Betty, for everything he had put the Andrews through. But most of all he cried for himself. Every inch of him felt like it was shattered, like the tiniest bump could reduce his to a shamble of glass on the floor. 

He stared at the ceiling, happy that the doctor told him he could go home the next day, as tears slipped down his face and into the pillow. He knew that he would be okay. That his body would heal, and that his life would go on. But there was one thing that was bothering him. 

The dream of Betty being pulled into the blackness had plagued him since that day. His mind spun at the implications of it. This whole time he thought Betty had been lost, but he had never considered what it would mean if she were taken. The thought had never once crossed his mind. 

What if she had? 

What if she were alive out there, scared and alone, a prisoner to some maniac?

And then, an even worse thought came to him. 

Most abductions end in death. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the thoughts to leave him. He just wanted this to all be over. He couldn’t take the not knowing anymore. He needed to know what happened to her. 

Even if that meant the worst. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did you think? Drop a comment and let me know, I love hearing from you guys! Oh, and follow me on Tumblr for more fuckery!


	7. May

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really have much to say except thank you to everyone who has commented, liked, and shared this story. You are all amazing, and I am so appreciative of your support!

The sun was warm on Jughead’s back, the air had changed rapidly from frigid winter winds to the beginnings of summer’s warmth. The wind was floating by him as he raced down the highway, the feeling of freedom sweet on his lips. So much had changed in the last month and a half, but the days had seemed to take forever to pass. 

His father had moved back to Riverdale shortly after Jughead had gotten out of the hospital. Jughead had thought a lot about what Fred had said to him that night in hospital, about forgiving his father and allowing the man to better himself. He had ended up calling his father and asking him to come home, if only so that they could try to repair their relationship. 

There had been ground rules that Jughead had set, of course. The first was there was to be no drinking, for obvious reasons. FP had agreed in a heartbeat, desperate to do anything that would help him earn his sons’ trust back. There had been other rules, like not dealing in Serpent business, holding down a steady job, assuming the responsibility of paying the bills for the trailer. FP had agreed to all of it eagerly and to Jughead’s surprise, things had been good. It had been a little over a month and a half and his father was still around, hadn’t been drinking, hadn’t missed a bill, and was going to work every day. Jughead knew the hardest for him was staying away from the Serpents, they were FP’s family, his support system, but even FP knew how quickly things could fall apart if he were to rejoin the gang. So the older man kept his distance. 

Jughead still lived with the Andrews, and he knew that it had hurt his father, but he finally knew what stability felt like. He had a place to sleep, with heat and food and companionship, with someone at home every night to greet him and ask him how his day had gone. 

He had a routine with Archie and Fred, and he finally felt like he had a safe place to land. He wasn’t sure he was ready to give that up. FP came to the Andrews house every Saturday for family dinner. He hadn’t missed a single one since he had moved back, and that alone was amazing to Jughead. His father had never prioritized time with his son over his own life. It felt good to be the center of his father’s life, for once. 

Jughead also saw his father during the week. FP had taken a job as a foreman for Andrews Construction, and with the return of warm weather came Jughead’s parttime gig of cleaning up job sites. He saw his father at work most days. They would sit and eat lunch together, chatting about mundane things like the weather and school. 

Every once in a while, FP would ask how Jughead was doing, and it was always obvious that the older man meant more than just how Jughead was doing at that moment. Jughead had dreaded these conversations in the beginning but had grown to take them for what they were. FP was trying his best to be supportive, in the only way that he knew how. Even though Jughead would love nothing more than to not talk about how he was feeling. 

He already did enough of that with Evette, the school counselor. After his hospital stay in March, Fred had set up an appointment for him. 

_ “It’s clear you aren’t dealing with any of this in a healthy way, Jug. Just try talking to her, she might be able to help, even if it’s just a little bit.” _

He had endured six sessions now, and as much as he hated to admit it, he had started looking forward to his appointments. Evette was different than how he had imagined her to be. He had pictured a stereotypical therapist, that would make him lay down on a couch and dissect his thoughts and feelings, but she was nothing like that. 

When he was with Evette, he was free to talk about anything he wanted. She had made it clear from the first session that he only had to talk about Betty if he wanted to. That she wouldn’t force him to talk about anything that he didn’t want to talk about. 

That alone had taken the pressure off. He was in charge, he directed the flow of conversation. And most of the time it felt like just that, a conversation. The more he came to trust and know Evette, the more comfortable he became. Eventually, he had brought up Betty, and how the loss of her tore him apart. He had been so afraid, afraid that if he talked about Betty he would fall apart, and then he would be the broken doll that everyone already thought he was. But Evette had simply validated his feelings, telling him it was okay to feel broken and empty after losing someone like he had lost Betty. 

“Jughead, would it be fair to assume, that before Betty’s appearance, she was sometimes the only constant you had in life?”

Jughead had stared at the woman, amazed that she had been able to sum up in one sentence what had been eating away at him for months. After that, Jughead had been able to talk freely about anything that regarded Betty’s disappearance. 

Something that came up a lot was how Jughead constantly felt like everyone in his life was treating him with kid gloves. He supposed it was fair enough. He had blown up at anyone who brought up Betty in the months that she had been missing. Even Cheryl was kind to him. Well, as kind as Cheryl could be. She had stopped calling him a hobo, and she spoke to him in the halls. 

Archie and Veronica had waited weeks to tell him that they had been sleeping together. He could only assume that it was because they thought he would lose it to see another couple happy. He had almost scoffed when they finally did tell him. “I know. I’ve known for weeks. You guys aren’t exactly subtle.” He had taken great joy at seeing Veronica, always so eloquently spoken, sputter uncontrollably at his blunt words. Evette had looked like she wanted to chastise him when he had told her about it, but in end, she had simply told him she was proud of him for being direct and being supportive. 

He was relishing his time with Evette more and more. The end of May was rapidly approaching, and Jughead knew that when he graduated, he wouldn’t be able to see Evette anymore. She was a school counselor, and once he was no longer a student he would have to find a new therapist if he wanted to continue treatment. Evette, being the amazing woman that she was, had already found him a few therapists in the area that had special programs for people who couldn’t afford therapy at one hundred fifty dollars an hour. Again, the woman was amazing.

Jughead slowed his pace as he reentered town, loving the feel of the bike rumbling underneath him. It had been a gift from his father, and at first glance, Jughead hadn’t thought he would enjoy the bike, but there was something about being exposed to the warmth and the wind that was liberating. It was something that Jughead had never experience before, that feeling of absolute freedom. The only time that Jughead was able to shut his brain off and just  _ be.  _

It was a glorious Saturday morning, and Jughead had every reason to be happy. He had received an early glimpse of what his final grades would look like, and somehow, he had managed to pull an amazing year of grades out of his ass. Truthfully, he knew exactly why his grades had gotten so much better this year. As a result of taking meticulous notes for Betty, he had managed to actually learn the material in his classes, inside and out. He hadn’t been a poor student before, but he had never had anything close to a 4.0 GPA, and after senior year, he was sitting at a stunning 3.7. He was truly amazed. Not to mention, he had spent a whole weekend in early April sending out college resumes to any institution that had a creative writing program. As much as it pained him to think about the future, he had promised Betty that he would pursue writing. And Jughead Jones kept his promises.

He pulled up the driveway and dismounted his bike. He walked over to the mailbox at the end of the driveway, only realizing when he got there and found it empty that it was the weekend, and that no mail would be delivered until Monday. 

Jughead walked inside the house, standing in the stillness for a moment. Fred was bidding for jobs and would be busy all day, and Archie was spending the day with Veronica. They were getting ready for their senior prom, something Jughead had been told that he was attending, nonoptional. 

He soaked in the familiarity of the house. The scent, the way the sunlight bounced off the walls. He wouldn’t be there much longer, and he wanted to remember everything about the house that had become a home to him. 

He walked through the rooms, trying to commit each one to memory. When he finally reached his and Archie’s shared room, he saw something colorful poking out from underneath his bed. He walked over casually, curious as to what it could possibly be. He knelt down by the bed, reaching blindly underneath and pulling out the object in question. He hadn’t been expecting a stack of Betty’s journals to come tumbling out from under the bed. 

There were seven in total that he could find. He had almost forgotten that Alice and Hal had given them to him. He remembered the day that they had given them to Jughead to read, he hadn’t been overly interested back then, but now he was keenly aware that before him sat Betty’s innermost thoughts. 

He would be lying if he didn’t admit that lately, he had been feeling distant from her memory, from his passion to find her. He had unwittingly settled into a new normal, one where she wasn’t around. He grabbed one, about to crack it open when a thought crossed his mind. 

He was about to peer into Betty’s mind. He wanted to do that in the place where he felt closest to her. 

Jughead pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, shooting a quick text to Archie, Fred, and his dad. 

_ Going out for a ride, will be back tonight.  _

In all likelihood, he would probably still return home before the two Andrews men. His father texted back immediately. 

_ Sounds good. Be safe.  _

He gathered up the journals, putting them in his backpack, and headed outside. He jumped on his bike, kicking it to life, and backed it down the driveway. Jughead made his way slowly down the street, not wanting to give the neighbors anything to complain about. The minute he hit the open highway, he was gone.

* * *

Two hours later and Jughead was driving slowly down the gravel road that he had come to know like the back of his hand. He guided his bike into the familiar campsite, taking solace in the fact that everything looked the same. He moved to sit at the picnic table that rested there, setting his backpack on the table. He pulled out the journals, quickly organizing them in chronological order. 

He flipped through the pages quickly, letting them run past his thumb. Of course, true to Cooper training, each notebook was labeled with the year, probably for easy organizing. He grabbed the one that was from their freshman year and opened it to the first page. 

_ September 4 _

_ It’s freshman year! I am so excited to start at Riverdale High, with Jughead and Archie, of course. We all walked to school together today. I’m really glad we did. I was excited for today, but also so nervous. I was glad to be able to face this new adventure with the two people I couldn’t live without.  _

_ Other than starting at a new school, though, everything else was pretty much the same at middle school. Archie, Jughead, and I were miraculously put in the same homeroom. How crazy is that? We were given our schedules and then headed to class. Jug and I have pretty much the same schedules, which is awesome. I’m so glad that that is one thing that isn’t about to change. I mean, if Jug isn’t there, who is going to whisper jokes to me when I’m bored out of my mind?  _

_ I’m taking American Lit, World History, Algebra I, and Journalism on Day 1, and Biology, Spanish, Chemistry, and Auto Mechanics on Day 2. I still can’t believe Mom signed off on the mechanics. But maybe it had something to do with the huge fight she and Dad had last week. I know that she wants me to  _ be successful,  _ but I just don’t understand why she can’t accept that my definition of success might be different than hers.  _

_ Oh well.  _

_ Archie signed up to try out for varsity football. I hope he makes the team. Maybe I’ll try out for the River Vixens so I have an excuse to watch the games.  _

_ I’m so happy that Jughead and I share most of our classes, with the exception of Journalism and Auto Mechanics. I think he’s taking Creative Writing and then has a free period. He’s so lucky. There’s no way that Mom would let me have a free period in freshman year.  _ You have to pad your college applications, Elizabeth  _ is what she always says. Nevermind that college is years away.  _

Jughead smiled at her words. He remembered that first day so well. He had been thrilled to be asked to walk to school with Betty and Archie. He had been so nervous to walk through the huge front doors of Riverdale High alone. 

He had cheered internally when they found out they have homeroom together. He had almost cried from joy when he saw that he and Betty would be spending most of their days together. 

He frowned slightly as he reread her words about cheerleading and his own free period. He had always known that Betty had a crush on Archie, but her writing confirmed it. He scoffed to himself. He never even had a chance. 

Then she had called him lucky, thinking that his free period had been a result of laid back parents, when in actuality, it had been because of absentee parents. He had always wondered back then what it would be like to have someone smother him the way Alice smothered Betty. He had never felt that before. 

He grabbed another notebook, this one from their junior year, and found another entry that caught his eye. 

_ March 10  _

_ He is so stupid. Completely oblivious. Every time I put myself out there, it’s like he has his head buried in the sand. I don’t know how much longer I can take this. I want to be with him so badly. I want him, and only him.  _

She was talking about Archie, of course. A part of his heart ripped away from his body. He wished she thought of him that way. Instead, her feelings were directed towards someone who didn’t like her back. 

Jughead grabbed the sophomore notebook and opened it to a random entry. 

_ November 14 _

_ I wish I didn’t like him as much as I did. Sometimes I feel like he couldn’t see me even if I stood up and screamed for him to look at me. Of course, I had to fall in love with a guy who treats me like a sister.  _

He flipped to a page nearer to the back of the notebook. 

_ June 21 _

_ He is going to be the death of me. We went to Sweetwater River today to go swimming. It’s bad enough that I have to see him shirtless. I was prepared for that, though. I had practiced in the mirror last night, perfecting my look of nonchalance. Not that it did me any good.  _

_ No.  _

_ Because as soon as he took off that stupid beanie, all that practice flew out the window.  _

Jughead read the last sentence again, puzzled. Archie didn’t wear beanies ever. The part about her drooling over Archie’s perfect six-pack sounded right, but the beanie was stumping him. 

He sat there for a moment, trying to pinpoint when he had ever seen Archie with something other than a ball cap on his head. Jughead reached up to scratch his forehead, pushing the gray crown that adored his locks back further on his head. 

The realization came crashing down on him. Archie didn’t wear beanies. Period. The only one in their friend group who did was him. But did that mean…

Was Betty talking about him?

He scoffed at himself, unable to believe that Betty would ever wax poetic about someone as unimpressive as himself. Then, his eye caught the next words in the entry that sat before him. 

_ It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen him without his crown. I wasn’t expecting how long his hair had gotten. And shiny. God, I wanted to run my hands through it. I almost did, but I managed to control myself.  _

_ There’s no point in denying. I am hopelessly gone for Jughead Jones, and he will never feel the same way.  _

Jughead sat on the bench, dumbfounded. With shaking hands he grabbed her sophomore year notebook, quickly skimming the pages. There were countless entries that mentioned him. The exact color of his eyes, how he smiled to himself when he was reading. How he rubbed at the back of his neck when he was nervous. 

Countless recountings of their day’s adventures, of something he had said to make her laugh, make her smile. 

All that time, he never knew. He had no clue how she felt, and in the meanwhile, he had been sitting in his own room, writing in his own journal, lamenting how the girl he loved would never love him back, while she was doing the exact same thing. 

It was too much. He stood quickly, shoving the journals back in his backpack and tossing it onto his shoulders. 

He needed air, even though he was surrounded by it. He needed to walk, to try and get some of the jitters that were wracking his body out. 

He took off down a trail, the sun filtering through the canopy brightly. He walked aimlessly, not really paying attention to where he was. He had trekked through this part of the woods so often that he could wander for hours and know exactly where he was. 

His mind whirled in dizzying circles. She liked him.  _ Him.  _ It didn’t compute. Why would she choose him? It made no sense. He was poor, sarcastic, dark, broody, and from the wrong side of town. 

She was perfect, sunshine personified, kind, genuine. She deserved somebody a million times better than him, which was exactly why he had never acted on his feelings. He knew that he didn’t deserve her. How could he possibly even begin to be worthy of someone like Betty Cooper?

He had been walking for thirty minutes, his mind twisting and turning in convoluted thoughts, when something caught his eye. He backed up, walking just off the path to get a better look. The item in question was a small arrow carved into the side of a tree. It was no larger than a pen, the grooves fairly shallow, but it was distinct in one way. 

It looked like a run of the mill, rudimentary drawing of an arrow, except that there were two parallel lines, perpendicular to the shaft, sitting just below the head of the arrow. The image tugged at something in Jughead’s mind. It felt as if his eyes seen the arborglyph before. 

He looked at the way it was pointing, something in his gut telling him it meant something. 

He followed the direction of the arrowhead, walking slowly to ensure that he could look carefully at every tree he passed. It wasn’t fifty yards later that he found another carving, this one pointing in a new direction now. 

He followed the arrow, finding another twenty yards away. A surge of excitement rushed through his body. He couldn’t be sure that this was a lead on Betty, but it  _ felt  _ like it was. 

Another thirty yards, another arrow. Then another a few trees away. 

He found five in total before the trail went cold. He went back to the last tree where he had seen the carving and started pacing again, checking every single tree along the straight path, then checked in a further radius on his way back towards the arrow again. 

When he still didn’t find anything, he checked every tree in every direction in a fifty-yard radius, but still nothing. He wanted to keep checking, his pathological need to investigate aching to be satiated, but the woods were getting dimmer by the minute, and he had promised his father and Fred that he would be more responsible. 

He pushed a frustrated breath through his clenched jaw as he turned on his heel, heading in the direction of the campsite. Something about the arrows seemed so familiar, and he was tearing himself apart trying to nail down what it was as he trudged back to his bike. He had learned his lesson the last time he was in the forest. He knew better than to overstay his welcome in the darkening woods. 

As it was, the sun was starting to lower. He still had a few hours of daylight, and he had no desire of driving his bike through the mountains in the dark. 

He got back to his bike quickly, kicking it to life. He wasted no time in getting back on the road, the few granolas bars that he had packed were long gone and he was starving. As he rode, he once again tried to place the design of the carving. Maybe he had seen it in a museum, or in some documentary. He knew that this area had been home to countless Aboriginal tribes before the settlers had come. Maye he had simply stumbled across someone paying homage to their heritage. 

Regardless of why the carving was there, or why it jogged something in his memory, Jughead was grateful to have had the day to read Betty’s thoughts. His mind was still spinning from the realization that she had felt the same way for him that he did for her. 

He couldn’t help but feel like he had wasted so much time being afraid of telling her how he felt. If he could go back, he would make the most of his time with her. 

He would have held her and kissed her and told her how amazing he thought she was. Now, he would never get the chance.

* * *

The sun was shining spectacularly as he donned his black cap. The tassel hung limply in his face and he tried to brush it to the side, only for it to fall back into his eyes. He heard a soft chuckle behind him and he turned to the sound. Veronica was grinning at him, one perfect eyebrow arched. 

“Having trouble?” she asked. He grinned sheepishly, nodding silently. She reached a hand up and moved the tassel to the side, pushing it a touch farther back than Jughead had before. When she pulled her hand away the tassel remained where she had left it and she gave an approving nod. Her hand landed on his shoulder next, giving him a reassuring squeeze. 

“How are you holding up?”

He scoffed a half-hearted laugh, knowing that she knew the answer to her own question. “About as well as could be expected.”

He looked up into her face, seeing anguish hiding in her eyes. 

“She should  _ be  _ here, Ron,” he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to prevent the tears that were starting to well up from falling. 

“I know, Jug,” she choked out, taking a stuttering breath, “I know.”

Jughead stood in the line of his classmates, watching Principal Weatherbee read names out. 

“Archie Andrews.” 

There was a loud roar of cheers and the redhead jogged up the steps, shaking the man’s hand and holding the fake diploma up like a trophy. 

A few more names were called and he waited in anticipation.  _ Barnes… Carter… Collins…  _

He drew in a shallow breath. Her name was supposed to be next. He had had nightmares about this moment. Of Principal Weatherbee calling her name again and again, until he finally turned to Jughead and told him, in no uncertain terms, that he had failed the woman he loved. 

He pulled himself to the present, watching as Misha Collins walked off the stage and Brinley Davis was called next. 

He stood statue-still. He had gotten through it, the part of this day he had been dreading the most. He bit his lip discreetly, needed a distraction from the gut-wrenching pain he felt at her absence. It had been a while since he had felt her loss this keenly. As much as he hated to admit it, life went on. 

That didn’t mean that he didn’t think about her every day. He did. But the sharp knife of loss had dulled into a bearable ache, as opposed to a knee-weakening stab. He was nudged by one of the Bulldogs standing behind him. He jerked his head up, seeing Mark Johnson heading down the stairs on the opposite side of the stage. It was his turn. 

He sucked in a deep breath and ascended the stairs, keep his eyes trained on Mr. Weatherbee. He came to stand before the man, shaking his extended hand, nodding and smiling absently at the whispered congratulations. He turned to the crowd and heard a loud outburst of cheers. His father and Fred were standing out of their seats, whooping and making a scene so ridiculous that Jughead couldn’t stop the face-splitting grin from taking over his visage. He walked off the stage, unable to stop himself from feeling the smallest amount of happiness. There had been days where he had been certain he wouldn’t make it to this day, but he was here, and the sun was shining down on him, and maybe, just for that moment, that was enough. 

It was a few hours later, and he had managed to sneak away from Cheryl’s party at Thistle House. The music and close proximity of bodies were much too much for him to handle over an extended period of time. He had played nice and partaken in a couple of beers with Archie, even though he hated the taste. It was more about the experience than it was the actual consumption of alcohol. 

Now, though, he walked through the cool night air, letting it erase the lingering beer in his veins. He knew the trails around town like the back of his hand, so it didn’t take him more than ten minutes of brisk walking to get to where he wanted to be. 

He walked into the quiet space, passing the slabs of stone protruding from the ground. He came to the one he was looking for and came to sit beside it. He pulled the wine cooler from his pocket and cracked it open, setting it against the ornate headstone. Her name was scrawled in twisting curves, with the short quote underneath.

_ Betty Cooper _

_ September 18, 2000 - July 1, 2018 _

_ To sleep, perchance to dream. _

The quote had been Jughead’s suggestion. Hamlet had been her favorite play, she had memorized most of it by the time they were fifteen. 

His eyes lingered over the words, a sad smile clinging to his lips. 

“You would have loved today, Betts,” he began. He leaned into the headstone and sighed, telling her about the graduation that she had missed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liked what you saw? Leave a comment, slam that kudos button, come visit me on Tumblr! I love hearing from y'all!


	8. July

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dudes. Here it is. The beginning of the end. We only have three chapters left, and my God I am so excited to share the last part of this story with y'all.

Jughead leaned against his headboard, a journal laying open on his lap. The sun was streaming in through the blinds, cutting up the rays into parallel stripes that splayed across his body. He moved his hand through the shadows, mesmerized by the way the light touched his skin. 

It was July long weekend, and Mayor McCoy had suggested a celebration of life for Betty, to honor the weekend of her disappearance. Hal and Alice had happily accepted, and Polly and Jason had flown home for the weekend, with a slightly larger belly than Jughead had expected. 

He had never been close with Polly, but over the last few months, he had begun reaching out to her more. Reading about her relationship with Betty from Betty’s perspective had made Jughead feel closer to Polly. 

In a moment of weakness, he had reached out to the elder Cooper sister, sharing a memory of when the two sisters used to play cops and robbers with Archie and himself. That had been shortly after graduation, and now he and Polly texted each other a few times a week. He knew that Polly was grateful to have someone to talk to about Betty other than Hal and Alice. Both of them had such different ways of dealing with Betty’s disappearance, and sometimes it was hard to gauge what would set one of them off. 

So it was a slight surprise to him when the blonde showed up at the Cooper household, her figure hidden behind a baggy, off-the-shoulder top. It wasn’t in the Cooper aesthetic to wear anything less than form-fitting and flattering. It had taken very much prodding from Jughead to get her to admit that she was pregnant, or for him to promise on his soul that he wouldn’t tell anyone. Polly didn’t want her exciting news to overshadow the weekend that was meant to be celebrating her sister. 

And that was what had led to Jughead sitting in his bed, alone, on a Friday afternoon in the summer. Everyone was down at the old fairgrounds, decorating and setting up for the ceremony. 

Archie was helping Veronica decorate, Fred and his dad were building the stage for the evenings’ festivities, a modern adaptation of Hamlet, put on by the school drama club. Hal, Polly, and Jason were getting the concession ready and Alice was probably doing what she did best, boss everyone around. 

He passed his hand through the cut-up sunshine again, his eyes lazily landing on the page before him. It was one he had read countless times, and one that he came back to constantly, despite the fact that Veronica told him it was masochistic. 

It was the first time she had admitted how she felt about him in words. When he had gotten home from Peekamoose back in May, he had scoured all the journals, start to finish, pouring over every entry. 

He had finally found what he was looking for in the freshman journal, close to the end. 

_ June 6th _

_ I think I like him. I mean, of course, I  _ like  _ him. But this is different. It feels different now. Jughead has always been my friend. For as long as I can remember, that’s all he was. My best friend, but still. Just a friend.  _

_ And then, today, something changed. We were sitting at Sweetwater River, going for our first swim of the summer. It’s something we do every year. And I’ve seen Jughead half-naked in the water too many times to count. But this year, when he took off his shirt and jumped into the water with Archie, I nearly stopped breathing.  _

_ I could barely take my eyes off him. And it wasn’t the fact that he was half-naked, thank you very much. It was like, in that moment, seeing him carefree and happy, changed something inside me. Everything became so crystal clear.  _

_ All that time spent editing together at the Blue and Gold, sitting in the stands cheering Archie on, going to the drive-in and walking old movies. Those were some of my favorite memories from this past year, and they all had one common thread. He was there for all of them.  _

_ Come to think of it, he is always there for everything. He is there when I need him, he’s my shoulder to cry on and my most revered confidant.  _

_ It would be silly to deny how I feel about him.  _

_ I love Jughead Jones.  _

_ I probably have for a while now.  _

_ The question is, what the hell do I do now? _

He had pondered whether or not he should tell Archie or Veronica, but in the end he did. He almost regretted it when he saw the look of sadness on both of their faces, but he knew that they were just trying to support him in the only way they knew how. 

And really, how did he  _ want  _ them to react? Would he want them to brush it off, hug him and let him cry until he couldn’t breathe, or maybe just sit in silence with him? He had no clue. He wanted to do all three of those things all at the same time. 

His eyes roved over the words again, taking in each curl and swoop of her handwriting. It was relaxing, almost, to become so familiarized with her writing that he felt like he was in a meditative state. 

He continued to let his thoughts float through his mind as his eyes floated across the page. He was pulled from his relaxed state, however, when his eyes landed on a small drawing in the margins of the page. An arrow sat on the page, small and rudimentary. He stared at it intently, feeling something tugging at the back of his mind. 

It seemed so familiar, like something he had seen in a dream. There were two small etches just underneath the arrowhead. He stared at it harder, his eyes almost watering from the strain. His mind struggled to place the image, but every time he felt it was within reach, it would float away again. He huffed a frustrated sigh and flopped back on his mattress. He had wanted to fit in a quick nap before the ceremony began. 

He closed his eyes and thought on the arrow, his mind drifting as sleep claimed him. 

_ He was in the woods by Peekamoose. He recognized the wood better than some parts of Fox Forest at this point. The sun was shining and the air seemed light, sparkling even. He narrowed his eyes and realized with astonishment that it  _ was  _ sparkling. Thousands of light-reflecting particles hung in the air, making the forest look like one, giant refraction.  _

_ Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a vision of a girl, clothed in white. He took a step towards her, and hearing her lilting laugh, made to follow her.  _

_ Her laughter sounded like music, delicately tinkling and echoing through the trees. He followed the sound, catching a glimpse every now and then, until finally, the sound of her voice was directly in front of him, hidden behind a tree.  _

_ “Jug…” the voice called. Something about it was familiar to him, like he had known this voice his whole life.  _

_ “Who’s there?” he asked.  _

_ “Jug... “ the voice coaxed him again, “Come find me, Jug.”  _

_ Jughead smile despite himself. It was a game. He was meant to find her. He took a step towards the tree and spoke gently, “I know you’re there,” he answered, “Come out, I’ve found you.” _

_ A head poked out from behind the tree, revealing the greenest eyes he had ever seen. The depth of them shook him to his very core. Something about them was unsettling. He shut his eyes, trying to clear the unpleasant feeling from the pit of his stomach, but when he reopened them, the forest had changed.  _

_ Gone were the glittering particles and the sunshine. The color had leeched out of the woods surrounding him, leaving him only to look at the eyes in front of him that still stared at him. They were no longer warm, but their intensity remained. They looked afraid.  _

_ “Please…” the voice pleaded, “find me. Find me!”  _

_ Jughead leaped into action at the desperation in the voice, meaning to come around the tree and console whoever stood there, but when he rounded the tree, no one was there.  _

_ He glanced side to side, before his eyes turned to face the bark in front of him. There, carved in the flesh of the tree, was an arrow, with two small notches just below the arrowhead.  _

_ Thunder rumbled overhead and a flash of lightning blinded Jughead, causing his vision to go white, before everything when black.  _

Jughead woke up suddenly, sitting up quickly, the book clattering to the floor. He knew where he had seen the arrow before. The forest, the arrows he had followed back in May. They looked the exact same as the ones in Betty’s diaries. He knew it. His whole body trembled as he stood, the implications of his dream terrifying and filling him with hope all at the same time. 

He picked the diary up off the floor, ripping out the page that had the arrow on it, jamming the piece of paper into his jeans pocket. He grabbed his coat, as well as his backpack, and began shoving things haphazardly inside it. Clothes, granola bars, a compass, and a map of the Peekamoose Valley were all shoved inside. Then he sprinted down the steps, two at a time, and ran into the kitchen. 

He slammed his backpack down on the counter and opened the fridge, grabbing a few bottles of water. He grabbed a box of matches and a lighter from a drawer, as well as the newspaper from the counter, and added everything to the backpack before zipping it up. 

He made to head towards the door, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He smashed the buttons, unable to slow his heart rate. Archie’s face lit up his screen and he held the phone to his ear as it dialed. Jughead quickly grabbed his keys and ran out the front door, hopping into his truck. 

The dial tone stopped and Jughead groaned in frustration.  _ Answer your phone, Archie,  _ he urged to himself. He dialed his friend again, slamming the truck into reverse and backing down the driveway. He made it to the end of their street when Archie’s voicemail picked up again, and Jughead cursed under his breath. He didn’t have time to wait, or even to go and convince Archie to come with him. He needed to leave.

Jughead left a quick voicemail, not wanting anyone to worry about him. 

“Hey, Arch. I’m heading up to Peekamoose for the weekend. I can’t…” he struggled to find a lie that the redhead would believe, “I can’t do this. I can’t say goodbye to her just yet.” He hung up, hoping that his voicemail was enough to placate his friends. 

The drive up to Peekamoose was frantic, and even though he tried his best to quell the feeling of hope that was bubbling up in his chest, it still remained. 

This was his first real lead in months. He was going to find her. 

* * *

He jumped out of the truck, running out to the trail the moment his feet touched the ground. He secured his backpack straps as he ran, doing his best to remember how he found stumbled upon the first arrow back in May. He didn’t take time to doubt himself, instead letting his instincts guide him. It only took him ten minutes to find the first arrow, and when he did he pulled the paper from his pocket, holding up the sketch in front of the carved tree. He had been right. They were an exact match. 

He followed the direction of the arrow, just as he had last time, finding it much easier to spot them now. It wasn’t until he reached the fifth carving that he slowed. This was where he had been forced to stop the last time, but something in his heart told him that it wasn’t where the trailed ended. He searched the area again, scouring every tree for a hint of the marking. 

He finally found it, a little ways off from the direction that it should have been in, and he nearly cried when he found it. 

The arrows were easy to track again from there, and he found three more before he heard a scuffling in the underbrush up ahead. He was beginning to climb a small embankment, and the noise was just ahead, out of sight. He walked carefully, not wanting to startle any wildlife. 

He made it to the top of the slope and stopped in his tracks at what he saw. 

There, crouched in the underbrush, was a woman, her back turned to him. He could hear that she was gently humming to herself, her voice ragged. She stood from her crouch and he nearly gasped. 

Her body, covered in clothes too thin and tattered to be new, was skin and bones, the fabric hanging loosely on her frame. Her hair, while obviously blonde, was muddy and matted, as if it hadn’t seen a brush in years. His heart leaped into his throat, and he took a step forward, almost too scared to call out.  _ What if it wasn’t her? _

He took a deep breath and felt his heart race. “Betty?” His voice carried in the silence of the trees, and he watched as the girl tensed up, her shoulders around her ears. 

“Betty,” he spoke again, taking two more steps, “is that you?”

His hands shook at the girl turned around, and a strangled sob escaped his throat. He ran to her, grasping her shoulders lightly. She didn’t look like herself, but he couldn’t mistake her eyes. They were the same emerald eyes that had haunted his dreams for over a year. It was her. He had finally found her. 

He was still trying to reconcile that thought with himself when her voice finally spoke out again in a panicked whisper. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, fear plain on her face, “You need to leave.” Her hands pushed him away, as her head swiveled around to take in their surroundings. 

Jughead frowned, his euphoria quickly draining away. “I…” he stopped, unable to understand what she was saying, “Betts, what happened?”

“You need to leave, Jughead,  _ now.” _ Her voice was firm and rough, and her eyes were wild with terror. 

“Okay,” he acquiesced, seeing some amount of relief come over her, “but...you’re..you’re coming with me.” 

The look of terror came back over her, her gaze focusing just over his shoulder. 

“Betts?” he tried to catch her eye as they filled with tears. He tried to make sense of what was happening. He had finally found her, but something was wrong. Very wrong. 

“You should have forgotten about me, Jughead,” she whispered. 

He was about to question her when he heard a twig snap behind him. He started to turn to find the source of the noise, when something hard slammed into the back of his head. A wave of gut-wrenching nausea came over him as his knees buckled and met the ground painfully. 

His eyes fluttered shut as he heard her sobbing, begging, then… 

Nothing. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just remember that I love you all, and that I promise I won't keep you in suspense for long! In the meantime, drop a kudos, leave a comment, or come visit me on Tumblr! Also, I have a poll of what I should write next over on my Tumblr. If you want a say, head over there and let me know!!


	9. Edgar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all I don't know what the hell has gotten into me. I mean, three updates in one month?! Who am I? Surely my being has been possessed by some ghoul who has motivation and inspiration. That's gotta be it.
> 
> Also, thank you to everyone who left such amazing comments last chapter. For real, you guys and your lovely words are the reason I've been feeling so inspired lately. Thank you, thank you, thank you! And enjoy!

The world spun around him, his mind heavy and thick with fog. He tried to remember why his head hurt so badly, but the answer seemed just out of his grasp. Jughead tried to bring one hand up to cradle his forehead, but found that its progress was stopped halfway. 

He cracked open one eye and was greeted with a host of unfamiliar sights. Underneath him was a dirty wooden floor, hard and unyielding. The walls were stone until about halfway up, then they became wooden. There was weak light filtering in through a cobweb-covered window, the filth on the glass breaking up the sun’s rays into streaks. The room smelled of must and disuse, and everything about it screamed abandonment. 

It wasn’t until a moment after he opened both eyes that he finally noticed what was restraining his arm. There, attached to his wrists, was a pair of wrought iron shackles. There was a thick chain of links that connected his shackles to the wall, tethering him in place. 

Panic welled in his throat at the sight of his chains. He pulled the shackles, finding that they had no give against the wall. They were solidly put in place. 

His chains rattled as he yanked, and he knew in his mind that he couldn’t pull himself free, but found himself unable to stop trying. The panic spread throughout his body, quickening his breaths and clenching his chest painfully. He grabbed the chains just under his shackles and pulled hard, spinning himself around to face the wall. He planted his feet firmly against the stone and pulled as hard as he could, hard enough to watch the iron cut into his skin, but still, he couldn’t stop. 

He was vaguely aware of a voice beside him, but the surmounting fear within him blocked out all sound, save for the rattling of metal. He pulled again and again, harder and harder, feeling his breath raking raggedly in his throat, a scream itching closer and closer to escaping from his chest. His wrists were raw already, blood trickling down his arms, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to stop. 

“Jughead!” A hand landed upon his, stilling his hands. He looked up to see her, a look of sadness and concern etched deep into her face. 

The memories of what had led him to his capture flooded back to him. Betty. He had found her. 

He had her, and then…

Then he was here. 

Chained up. 

“Betts,” his voice broke, his breath still coming quickly. He plunged his hands into his coat pocket, looking for his phone. It was gone, his pockets completely empty of anything. He felt like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room. “Where are we? What’s going on?”   
She scooched back from him, a dark look crossing her face. She almost looked angry, but...no. That wasn’t quite right. Disappointment. That’s what it was. 

“Why did you come, Jughead? Why…” her voice thick with sadness, choking her words, “You should have forgotten about me.” 

He sat there, unable to process what she had said. Forget about her? How could she possibly think that he would be able to do that?

She looked so defeated. She looked as if her skin had been rubbed raw, and her whole being was one open wound. She wasn’t the Betty that he remembered, and his heart broke over and over again as he tried to match up the girl from his memories to the one that sat before him. 

“I could never forget about you,” he finally said, his words no more than a whisper, coming out harshly in the silence, “Never.”

He watched her carefully as a sigh heaved the entirety of her body, like it was all her frail frame could do to hold the oxygen in her lungs. 

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” she muttered, her hands coming to clutch her matted hair, “It wasn’t...not ever...not you…” Her breath started coming quicker, in and out rapidly in her lungs. She rocked back and forth, cradling her head in her arms. 

Jughead recognized it as the early stages of a panic attack. He moved to sit in front of her as best he could, the chains just long enough to allow him to sit off to the side of her but still facing her. He carefully brought his hands to rest on her forearms, not trying to pull them away, simply letting her know that he was there. 

“Betts,” he said softly, trying to distract her from her thoughts, “Betty.” His voice was firmer the second time, and it was enough to get her to pull her head up from between her knees, her eyes meeting his. 

“I’m here,” he kept eye contact, trying his best to convey that she was safe without saying it out loud. He didn’t know what to say to calm her. He knew from experience that hearing someone tell you to  _ breathe  _ or  _ calm down _ was probably the most unhelpful thing they could say. He lacked the words needed to help her, so instead, he just closed his eyes, gripping her arms in a reassuring, tight grip, and breathed in deeply, letting the air out slowly, repeating the process several times. 

He cracked his eyes open after a minute, seeing that she too had closed her eyes and was taking deep breaths in, letting them loose slowly between her teeth. 

When she had calmed enough that her breathing was even again, he spoke, keeping his voice low and even. 

“Betty, what happened? Why are we here?” He watched as she sucked in a breath and held it for a while before finally letting it out in a whoosh. She reopened her eyes, meeting his, and he was shaken to his core at the sadness that lay there. 

“It’s a long story,” she whispered, her voice brittle. 

He chuckled pathetically, shaking his arms to let the chains jangle against one another. “I’ve got time.”

* * *

“I was about to come back to camp,” she started, “when someone grabbed me from behind. They pressed a rag over my face and I passed out. When I woke back up, I was here, chained to the wall, with no food or water. The only thing left for me was a bucket.” 

Her eyes were downcast, her voice small as she continued. 

“I was alone for four days, and for four days I thought I was going to be left to starve. Now, after everything, I almost wish I had been,” she chuckled darkly, before continuing. “A man walked into the cabin, and I remembered being so scared. I had no clue what he wanted with me. Did he want to kill me? Or did he want…. Something else,” her voice trailed off in a weak sob. 

Jughead tried to contain his anger at the thought of her being afraid. It filled him with a rage that threatened to take over his entire being. 

“He told me that he didn’t want to kill me, that his name was Edgar and he was a child of God. A prophet, sent to Earth to cleanse away man’s sins. He made me a deal. If I lured campers and hikers to the cabin, he would let me live, and he would never lay a finger on me.”

Her words cut off again, as her body shook with shed tears. “I… I didn’t know what he was going to do to them, Jug. You have to believe me. You have to…” 

Jughead scooched closer to her, resting a hand on her leg, trying to ignore the way she flinched when he raised his hand. “It’s okay, Betts,” he paused, giving her time to breathe, before gently prompting her to continue. 

She took a deep, shuddering breath before resuming her story. “He kept me locked up for about a month, coming once a day to give me food and water. I don’t know how long it was before he let me out of the house, but it had to have been late August. The leaves were all starting to change color. He took me out to the woods, telling me that there were hikers just down the path and that it was my job to lure them closer to the cabin. I had asked him why, but he had just shoved me in the direction of the hikers and told me to go.” 

“I walked for a few minutes and stumbled across them. I didn’t...think. I told them about Edgar, about how he had kidnapped me, and told them to help me get back to town, but before they could do anything, Edgar leaped out from behind a tree and shot them both,” she paused as she sniffled, tears choking her for a moment. “He made me drag one of them back to the cabin. Once we made it back he… he hit me… until I couldn’t hold myself up, then he chained me to the wall again. He told me that I would be punished for my sins, and he left the bodies in here with me for three days, no food or water again.”

“I had to stare at their dead bodies, knowing that it was my fault they were dead. That they would never see their families again. He came and took the bodies away and I didn’t see him for longer than the five minutes it took to drop off food and water for another month.”

Jughead shook with fury at the thought of the man laying hands on Betty. It filled him with murderous thoughts, the likes of which he had never felt before. But beneath the rage was a soul-crushing sadness, and the realization that there was nothing he could do to ease her pain. 

“He eventually trusted me enough to unchain me from the wall,” she started speaking again, disrupting Jughead’s thoughts, “if only so that he wouldn’t have to empty my bucket anymore. I spent most of that month thinking about how I could get free. I knew that it would have to be while I was outside the cabin. He kept the door locked from the outside and never left me anything heavy enough to break a window with. There was no way to get out of here. I wouldn’t be able to outrun him. He was young and strong, and he kept me undernourished so that I couldn’t run away. I couldn’t fight him off, which meant that my only option was to outsmart him. I hoped that people were still looking for me. I hoped that….”

Jughead grabbed her hand, ducking his head to look into her eyes. “We looked for you, for months,” his voice rasped, “helicopters, search parties, everything that we could think of.” He hoped that the information made her feel better, but she looked devastated. 

“He made me bring back so many men, Jughead. And every time he would bring them back to the cabin and lock me inside with them. He would chain them to the wall, and tell them to beg forgiveness and confess their sins. Some did, some refused, but in the end, he killed them all. And he made me sit in the corner and watch, made me tell him that what he was doing was the right thing, that we were fulfilling God’s will.” Sobs overtook her, shaking her slight frame. 

He moved again, this time coming to sit beside her, as close as he could. He pulled her small frame into his chest, holding her there so that he could feel her breaths and count them, and know that at least for that moment, she was with him, and he was with her. 

It was a while before she spoke again, her head still resting against his chest. 

“The arrows,” her voice soft, “that’s how you found me.” It wasn’t phrased as a question. 

“Yes.”

“How did you know that I made them?” 

Jughead wondered if he should tell her the truth, but he didn’t want to lie to her. “I saw them first back in May. I was walking through the woods, and found five of them, but lost the trail. I didn’t imagine back then that they were from you. It wasn’t until I was reading one of your journals this morning that I realized. I rushed here as soon as I noticed.” 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered into his chest.

“Oh, Betts,” he gripped her tighter, “Don’t be sorry. You don’t have to be sorry for anything that you did to survive.” 

She didn’t speak for a minute, “I stopped carving them after I realized that that was how hikers were finding the cabin. Back in April, Edgar brought in person after person, saying that they were always lurking around outside. I haven’t carved another one since then.”

He was quiet for a while, trying to absorb the horrors that she had experienced. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Evette’s words rattling around.  _ Your brain will try and repress trauma when it feels it can’t process it all at once.  _ He realized that that was probably what was allowing Betty to talk about what had happened to her. Her brain hadn’t fully come to terms with what had happened to her. By all rights, she should have been an absolute mess, yet there she sat, crying quietly, still in mostly one piece. As he sat there, a question popped into his mind. 

“In March, did you try to escape again?” She lifted her head from his chest, confusion coloring her face. 

“Yeah,” she nodded, “I managed to get away from Edgar because of the snow. I was so light at that point that I didn’t sink into it, so I could run faster than him. He kept sinking in the deep snow and couldn’t chase after me. I ran faster than I’ve ever run in my life. I had tried to run in the direction of the campground, but I knew that there would be no campers in the winter. I knew my best bet was the trailhead on the other side of the mountain. I ran for such a long time, my legs were rubber, but I told myself to keep going.

Eventually, the trees started to thin out, and the snow had begun to melt the further down the mountain I came. I stopped paying attention to my footing and I tripped. I heard Edgar screaming for me, so I got up and kept running. I had just made it to a highway, and there was a truck coming. I had stepped out of the bushes and was about to flag him down when Edgar caught up to me. He dragged me back into the bushes, and then took me back to the cabin.”

“Did he hurt you? For trying to escape again?”

Bety clenched her eyes shut, like the thought of it physically hurt her. Jughead swore to himself and backtracked. 

“You don’t have to answer that. I’m sorry, Betts. Let’s just…”

“He beat me, Jug. So many times that I lost count. He would come in and hit me again and again, telling me that the Lord was disappointed in me. That I was a bad follower for disobeying him. After that, he trusted me less. He would follow me in the woods, and after he was done… killing someone, he would make me dispose of the bodies. He said it was a reminder of my place in God’s plan. That I was a woman and it was my duty to serve him, to do as I was told. He…” she stopped, her voice ragged in her throat, “he told me that if I ever tried to run again, he would… he would  _ take what was rightfully his from my body.  _ That as a disciple of the Lord, it was his right to take from me what he saw fit.” 

She broke down in sobs again at the memory, and he held her close. He wasn’t sure how long they sat like that, her forehead pressed against his chest, the only sound in the cabin her sobs that echoed off the walls. 

The door flew open off to his left, and Jughead got his first good look at Edgar. He was tall and lithe, and it was obvious that he was in good shape. What surprised Jughead was how well-groomed he was. He had expected a rugged mountain man, but that wasn’t what stood before him. 

Edgar had sandy blonde hair, cropped short and styled perfectly. He was wearing a black windbreaker and khaki hiking pants, his clothes clean from forest debris. What unsettled Jughead was the man’s smile. It was wide, displaying two rows of perfectly straight, blindingly-white teeth. It wasn’t a nice smile. It reminded Jughead of a wolf. 

“I am Edgar,” he spoke, his voice as smooth as water over a river stone, “prophet and disciple of the Lord. Confess your sins unto me and I shall grant you mercy.”

Jughead had to stop himself from scoffing. It wouldn’t serve him to piss Edgar off. He knew for a fact that the man planned on killing him no matter what, but he needed to buy them some time. 

“I see that you have gotten close with my Elizabeth,” Edgar mused, a look of possessiveness in his eyes. 

“She’s not  _ yours, _ ” Jughead growled, unable to stop himself. He pulled Betty closer to his chest, feeling her body tremble against him. He had expected Edgar to become enraged, but the man simply laughed, throwing his head back. 

Jughead watched, unnerved, as the man continued to laugh to himself. When he finally collected himself, his eyes settled on Jughead again, but they held no amusement. They were as dark as the sky on a moonless night. He lunged towards Jughead and Betty, quicker than Jughead could have anticipated. 

Edgar grabbed him by the coat and wrenched him upwards, and the cabin exploded into chaos. Betty was screaming for Edgar to let him go, her chains rattling noisily as she tried to claw her way to them. Edgar had pulled Jughead to stand, pressing him into the wall with a strong arm across his throat, effectively cutting off his airways. 

“Tell me your sins,” Edgar said again, his voice more strained now. 

Jughead tried to twist away, but couldn’t get his footing. “Fuck you,” he spat out, his words pure venom. 

The punch came faster than he would have expected. One moment there was a blinding pain in his temple, the next he was laying on the floor. He felt Betty’s hands on him, her body shielding him. Jughead felt a trickle of blood begin to flood his ear and he looked up at the light that suddenly streamed into the room. 

Edgar stood in the doorway, his face a mask of pleasantries. “I will be back, and when I return, I expect to hear your sins.” The door slammed shut behind him, sending the room into a cloak of silence save for Jughead’s heavy breathing. 

“You’re bleeding,” came Betty’s voice, soft and gentle beside him. Her hand came up, the sleeve of her shirt pulled over her fingers, and she dabbed away the blood. She helped him sit up and put his back against the wall, his world still swimming from the oxygen deprivation and head trauma. 

Betty came to sit in front of him, holding up her finger in front of his face. “Follow my finger,” she instructed, moving it slowly back and forth in front of his eyes. He did as he was told, following the movement of her finger as she stared at him. Finally, she let her hand fall to rest on her lap, a relieved look resting on her face. “No concussion, from what I can tell,” she supplied when he looked up at her. 

He nodded, unable to make himself smile at her diagnosis. 

“How,” she began, stopping herself before continuing, “how did you know that I tried to escape in March?” 

Jughead sighed, he had hoped that he wouldn’t have to tell her about the memorial, but he knew it was unavoidable. 

“I came to look for you that day,” he admitted quietly, “I didn’t get here in time, obviously.”

“How did you know where I was?”

Jughead told her about the tipline, and how he had received a call about a girl on the edge of the woods. Of how he had left without telling anyone, how he hard searched the woods for hours. 

“But… there was a blizzard that night. How did you get home?” she questioned, concern evident in her words. Jughead sighed, wishing that he could lie to her, or change the subject. He knew how she would react to his actions. 

“I didn’t,” he answered, “I got lost in the woods, and when I finally made it back to my truck, I was too cold to start it. I ended up passing out, and when I woke up I was in the hospital back in Riverdale.” 

He felt shame as her face twisted in anger. “Jughead Jones,” her voice was quiet, yet still conveyed her anger perfectly, “how could you be so reckless? What if you had died? What about Archie and Fred and your dad? What about…” 

“I needed to do  _ something, _ ” he exclaimed, his voice louder than he had intended. He winced as his head throbbed and she shrank away from him. He hadn’t meant to scare her. “The day the tip was called in was…”

She stared at him, waiting for him to continue. He sighed, “It was the day of your memorial. 

I was a mess, and I needed to get away from Riverdale. I was going to come here anyways, but then the tip came in and I just left.”

“You had a memorial for me?” her voice was so quiet he barely heard her. His heart beat in time with the stabbing pain in his skull. 

“Your parents, they were so devastated. And your mom, she couldn’t... she needed…. closure. I begged them not to, but your dad… he said that your family needed to heal. To mourn you and move forward, because staying still hurt too much.” 

The silence between them was deafening as huge tears slipped down her cheeks, her fingers coming up to brush them away every few seconds. 

“That’s good,” she whispered, “I hope they found some peace.” 

They sat and watched the sun fade through the dingy window, the room getting darker with each passing minute. It was a long time before Betty finally spoke again, her voice quiet in the darkness. 

“How did you know the arrow was from me?” Jughead felt his body clench, a sudden wave of embarrassment crashing over him. 

If he were being honest, he had only read Betty’s diaries when he had begun to lose hope that he would find her. In the tiniest, furthest reaches of his mind, he had justified prying into her personal thoughts because there was a small voice telling him it was all he had left of her. Now that she was here, in front of him, all he felt was shame. 

Shame at giving into that voice, and believing it for even a moment. 

And shame for invading her most secret of possessions. 

“I… I saw it… in your journal,” he murmured, waiting for her anger to wash over him. Instead, when he looked at her face, which he could only just make out in the last dregs of daylight, there was understanding there. 

“So,” she trailed off, “you know.” 

He studied her face, trying to decipher what she could be referring to. He sucked in a breath as he realized what she was talking about. All the entries describing, in detail, exactly how she felt about him. He grabbed her hand, holding it close to his chest and nodded, looking down at their intertwined fingers, not trusting his voice to carry. 

“Jug, you should know that those words, they -”

“I feel the same way,” he blurted out, interrupting her. His chest was heaving now with the ramifications of his confession. He looked up at her face again, her mouth slightly open in surprise, her eyebrows arching into her hairline. 

“I have loved you for as long as I could remember, and after I read your journal and realized you felt the same, I just felt so  _ stupid  _ for never telling you. So… I’m telling you now. I love you, Betty Cooper.” 

He sat there, dropping his eyes to his lap, waiting for her to say something,  _ anything,  _ after he had just confessed his love for her. Doubt ravaged at his insides, telling him that he was idiotic to think that her feelings were the same after all she had been through. She had been too preoccupied with staying alive to even think about high school romance.  _ Stupid,  _ he thought,  _ vapid and dumb.  _

His mental berating continued for a few more moments until she spoke softly, “I felt the same way.” His eyes found hers, waiting for her to continue. 

“There were so many nights where I sat here, hating myself for not telling you how I felt, for being too afraid to tell you.”

He nodded, chuckling mirthlessly, “It would seem as though we are both quite adept at avoiding our feelings.”

She laughed with him, a hint of a smile reaching her eyes, “A match made in heaven, really.” She moved so that she was nestled into his chest, letting him wrap his arms around her shoulders. He didn’t know where they sat, and he wasn’t sure that it really mattered. They certainly had bigger problems than whether or not their past feelings still held merit at the current moment. He had no clue what to say to her, no idea what words would make her feel better, so he settled for a promise. It was one that he wasn’t sure he could keep, but he knew he would do his best. 

“I’m going to get us out of here,” he whispered into her hair, “I promise you, I will get us out of here.” 

They fell asleep like that, the night sky awakening with the rise of the moon, the brilliant white light falling across them as daylight inched closer and closer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like what you saw? Leave a comment, smash that kudos button! Come talk to me on Tumblr! I love hearing from you guys!


	10. Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, my lovelies! I won't take up too much of your time by blabbing away up here, but I did want to let you all know that this chapter gets a little...graphic. So if blood and gory stuff makes you queasy, then this might not be for you. If you're into that shit, then go right on ahead baby, this ones for you!

The moon still sat in the sky, but Jughead knew the dawn was fast approaching. He sat slumped against the wall, Betty’s head leaning against his shoulder as she slept. She had fallen asleep after their talk, along with Jughead, but he hadn’t stayed asleep for long. 

He had been unable to when he knew that his death was fast approaching. He had wracked his brain, trying to come up with a plan to escape. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to pull his shackles free from the wall. There were solidly in place. 

Next, he had considered the possibility of slipping his hands through the manacles. He slowly moved his hand from where it rested on his lap. He grasped the cuff in his hand and began to work it up his arm, feeling resistance when it hit the base of his wrist. It hit his thumb joint and he cursed. There was no way that it would go any further. For a moment he pondered the logistics of breaking his thumb in order to get past the joint, but he knew that the injury would probably cost him more in the long run. He needed a different solution. He glanced around the room, taking in his options. There was nothing that he could use, not even a chair for him to throw through the window. 

He continued looking around the room when his eyes fell on Betty’s wrists. They were thin, delicate from the lack of nutrition. Jughead pulled himself up to sit straight, his neck sore from slumping against the wall. He gently grabbed one of Betty’s wrists, cringing when she jerked away from his touch. Her eyes were wild with fear, but the look faded when she saw him. 

“Sorry,” he murmured in the darkness, “I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s okay,” she mumbled in a sleepy voice, rubbing her eyes. 

Again, he gently took her wrist in his fingers, sliding the manacle up her arm until it hit her hand. Unlike when he had tried on himself, there was a large gap between her joint and the steel, and he allowed himself the smallest amount of hope. 

“Betts,” he whispered, drawing her attention away from where she had been looking at the floor, “Do you think you could slip out of these?”

She smiled sadly, “I’ve tried, Jug. So many times. They’re too small.” 

“Please, try again. For me.” 

She let loose a small sigh and for a moment he thought she was going to tell him no, but then she grabbed the manacle with one hand and started pushing it against her wrist. It stopped at the bottom of her thumb, as his had, and she let it go with a huff. 

“One more time, Betts.”

Again the manacle was pushed up, and again it stopped, but this time Jughead reached for her hand, taking it when she extended it to him. He gripped her fingers lightly, then, with his other hand, pushed gently on her thumb, forcing the ligament to lay flat against her palm. The manacle slipped down lower. A surprised gasp escaped Betty’s lips, her eyes lighting up with ecstasy. 

“Keep going,” she urged. He nodded, pressing her thumb down a little harder. She inhaled sharply, and he let go. 

“Am I hurting you?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” she grated, “keep going.”

He pushed on her thumb again, grimacing at the knowledge that he was causing her pain. As he pushed, she used her free hand to move the manacle further down her hand. There was a moment of fear when the manacle didn’t look like it would go any further. Jughead was about to tell her to stop, but before he could, Betty grit her teeth and pushed hard, the manacle popping free from her arm.

They both gasped, “I can’t believe that worked,” Betty exclaimed.

Jughead smiled and nodded, “Okay, let’s get the other one off.” 

They redid the process on her other hand, smiling widely when she was able to get that one free as well. Jughead felt a tug at his heart because as happy as he was, he knew what had to come next. 

“You need to go,” he said quietly, watching as her face fell, “you need to run as far away from here as you can. My truck is parked back at the campground, there’s a spare key tucked in the rim of the box on the driver’s side. Find it and go to the nearest town and -”

“What?” the word came out harshly, her voice colored with disbelief “Jughead, I am  _ not  _ leaving you here. You realize he will kill you when he gets back and finds that I’m gone? I can’t… I won’t…”

“Betts,” he interrupted, his voice gentle, “I don’t see how we both get out of here alive. You… you have a chance to see your family again -”

“ _ You  _ are part of that family, Jughead. Do you think I could live with myself knowing that I was alive because I let you sacrifice yourself for me? No. We escape together or we don’t escape at all.” 

Jughead saw the look in her eyes. The patent, determined Cooper glare that told him what she said was true. She wasn’t leaving without him. He pushed a sigh through his teeth, closing his eyes. 

“We need a plan.” They sat in silence for a while, then Betty gasped silently and leaned into him. 

“I have an idea, but you are not going to like it.”

They both sat against the wall, feigning sleep. Their plan was simple, but it relied heavily on Edgar believing he was catching them unawares. 

Betty had predicted that Edgar would be arriving sooner rather than later. Based on past instances, the radicalist tended to want to be done with his  _ cleansing  _ in a timely manner. 

Betty had been right. It wasn’t more than an hour after they had hatched their escape plan that the door slammed open. Jughead was sure that the action was meant to scare anyone who was inside the cabin, but he had been waiting for it. 

Still, he had to act surprised.

He watched as a shadow entered the room and shut the door behind it. There was a soft thunk of something being set on the counter across the room, then the room was bathed in soft, yellow light. Jughead clamped his eyes shut against the sudden illumination, but he opened them quickly to let them adjust. When they finally did, he was greeted with the sight of Edgar standing across from them, leaning against the counter. Jughead watched the way Edgar looked at them, his eyes flitting between them, cunning and clever. 

“Are you ready to confess your sins?” Edgar asked, a menacing smile resting on his face. 

Jughead met the man’s gaze and tried to keep his hatred hidden away. It wouldn’t serve him to be openly obstinant. “I am.” 

Edgar seemed taken aback by that, but the man quickly rearranged the look of surprise on his face into one of satisfaction. 

“Very well, my child. Go ahead.” 

Jughead took a deep breath and tried to remember what Betty had told him to say. “I am guilty of befriending a homosexual, instead of refuting their existence. I am guilty of supporting abortion. I am guilty of disrespecting my mother and father, and for stealing from others. The list is longer, but I can’t stand to bear any more of my misgivings before the Lord.” 

There was silence for a moment, “This is a good start, young man,” Edgar was practically purring out of delight. Jughead wanted to punch the look of happiness off his face. There wasn’t one thing that he had said that he believed in. 

Befriending Kevin Keller wasn’t something he was ashamed of, in fact, he had come to truly be friends with the teen over the years. He believed that women should be allowed to choose what to do with their own bodies, and he certainly wasn’t sorry for the things he had said to this mother and father growing up. He knew that he had never said anything that they hadn’t needed to hear. As for stealing, that he was kind of sorry about, but he had been eleven, and there hadn’t been any food at home. 

Jughead realized that Edgar was talking again, and he cursed himself for not fully paying attention. 

“...but our God is a merciful one, and now that you have confessed your sins, you may enter his kingdom free of guilt. Rejoice, child, for you are about to meet our Heavenly Father.” 

Jughead knew what was coming next, but seeing the gun that Edgar produced from the waist of his jeans still sent a shudder of fear down his back. He took a deep breath. It was now or never. 

“Wait,” he exclaimed, taking in the look of disappointment on Edgar’s face, “Please, I wish to meet the Father unchained. I want him to know that I came willingly. Surely, you won’t deny me this, Prophet.” 

Jughead waited with trepidation, hoping that Betty’s plan would work. He was relieved when Edgar lowered his gun and stepped closer to him. He watched as the man pulled a small key out of his pocket and reached down to roughly grab the chain that held Jughead in place. Before he had time to register what had happened, the manacles were off, hanging from the wall. His wrists burned, but he ignored the pain and stood to his full height. His hands were shaking, but he trusted Betty. He knew she would do what she had to do to make their plan work. 

Edgar took two steps back and raised his gun again. “In the name of the Almighty Lord, I cleanse you of your sins.”

“No!” Betty’s voice rang out in the small room, “please, Edgar. He’s my friend. Please, can you…. Can you show mercy? He won’t tell anyone, he…”

Her words were cut off by a dark chuckle from Edgar, “You know that I can’t let him live, Elizabeth. He knows where we live, he knows that you exist. For those reasons alone I have to release him from his earthly bonds…”

Jughead didn’t wait to hear more. He carefully snuck to the counter behind Edgar while the man’s attention was drawn away. He grabbed the lantern and came to stand behind Edgar. Jughead looked over Edgar’s shoulder, meeting Betty’s eyes, and nodded. He swung with all his might, aiming the lantern to make contact with the back of Edgar’s head. His stomach turned as the lantern hit its target. 

He hadn’t realized that he had closed his eyes, but as a heavy thud sounded, he opened one eye, seeing Edgar lying on the floor. There was a thin line of blood trailing from his head, making a small pool on the floor. For a moment, both Betty and Jughead stood there, both frozen at the sight of Edgar on the floor. Jughead was the first one to snap out of his trance. He shook his head, then ran to Betty. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, grabbing her upper arms gently. 

“We need to get out of here,” she spoke no louder than a whisper, her eyes glazed over. Jughead nodded, reaching a hand down to grab hers. They started to walk towards the door, but Jughead made himself stop beside Edgar, crouching down to rummage in his pockets. 

“What are you doing?” Betty hissed. Jughead answered by standing quickly, showing her the cell phone that he had stolen from the man. He had been hoping that Edgar would still have his own phone, but Edgar must have left it wherever he had gone during his time away. Either way, Jughead now had a phone, even if it wasn’t his. 

He had never been more grateful than in that moment, thanking his golden retriever of a best friend, for forcing Jughead to memorize his cell phone number two summers ago. 

He grabbed Betty’s hand again and they took off out the door. He let her lead the way, as they had planned. She knew how to find her arrows, and he knew how to find the campsite from there. 

They ran side by side, the sky just started to lighten with the promise of a sunrise. Jughead cursed silently to himself. He had been hoping that they wouldn’t have to run through the forest in the dark, but he would take what he could get. As he ran, he brought the phone up in front of his face, looking back up at the landscape in front of him every few seconds. With difficulty, he managed to punch in the digits to Archie’s phone number, letting out a ragged gasp of relief when the phone’s dial tone began to ring in his ear. 

“Hello?” the reply was quick and sharp, not what Jughead had been expecting. It was close to four in the morning. He had been counting on Archie being asleep in bed, but his friend sounded like he was wide awake. 

“Archie, it’s me,” Jughead panted into the phone. 

“Thank God,” Archie shouted, “Where the hell are you?”

“At… Peekamoose…” Jughead was heaving deep breaths now, realizing too late that his body wasn’t equipped to carry on a conversation while he was running, “Arch, I found...Betty...we need...help.”

“Dad and I are already here, Jug. Just tell us which direction.” Jughead could have sobbed with relief. Help was closer than he had anticipated. He would never be more thankful to the Andrews than he was in the moment. 

“W...West,” he struggled to get the words out, “west of our campsite.” The call dropped as Betty and Jughead ran down a small hill, and he could only hope that Archie had caught the end of his message before their call had gotten cut off. 

“Archie and Fred… are here,” he relayed to Betty. He turned his head to see how Betty was fairing, and he felt his heart drop into his stomach. She looked like she was about to pass out, her frail body unaccustomed to the physical exertion. It didn’t matter, he decided. If she fell and couldn’t keep going he would carry her. He would do anything to end the nightmare that she had been living. 

They ran for a few more minutes before Jughead heard a loud crashing behind them. A bone-chilling shudder ran down his spine and he dared a glance backward. There, about forty yards back, was Edgar, crashing through the underbrush. Jughead could see the crazed look in the man’s eyes even from that distance, and his hands began to shake. 

He took as deep an inhale as he dared, and shouted as loud as he could, “Help! Archie...Fred! We’re...over...here!” He hoped that they could hear him. He knew that they wouldn’t be able to outrun Edgar. The man was physically superior, with the stamina of someone who obviously ran often. 

He swiveled to look ahead again, hoping on all hope that Archie and Fred were close. There was a large log ahead, its decaying carcass lying across the forest floor. Jughead looked around, wishing that there was an easy detour around it, but there was no way around it that wouldn’t cost them time. They would have to jump over it. He told Betty as much, his words coming out in short puffs. She nodded in agreeance, not wasting any energy on words. 

He watched as the log got closer. He stared at in with intent determination, as if his mind had decided that if that they could make it over the log, they would be free. They would be safe. The log was only a few steps away now. He took a deep breath, planted his foot, and leaped.

He landed roughly on the other side, stumbling and almost losing his balance, but he caught himself at the last minute. He was about to keep running when he heard a dull thud behind him. His heart sank, knowing before he even looked what he would see. He twisted his head back, his neck protesting in pain at the quick movement. 

Betty lay there, trying weakly to get back up. Her foot had caught on the log, that much was obvious. Jughead skidded to a halt and bounded back to her, grabbing her under her arms, lifting her to stand. 

“Can you keep running?” he asked, breathless. 

She shook her head jerkily, “No, I think...I think I twisted my ankle.”

He cursed under his breath, looking behind them to see how close Edgar was, but when he tried to find the man, Jughead realized that he was gone. Jughead froze, turning his head slowly to take in their surroundings. He knew Edgar wouldn’t just give up, which meant he was hiding, but where was he?

Jughead didn’t have to wait long for his answer. A hard object hit him from behind, taking him and Betty to the ground. He could hear her soft gunt underneath him as they hit the forest floor. Before Jughead could gain his bearings, strong hands were ripping him off Betty, rolling him until a solid weight was on top of him, pinning him down. He opened his eyes, looking up into Edgar’s face, which was twisted and contorted in rage. 

“You are no child of Christ,” Edgar seethed, his eyes like fire. Jughead made to say something, but before he could speak, Betty’s frame crashed into Edgar. 

“Let him go,” she screamed, her fists pummeling the man. Jughead could tell that her blows weren’t affecting Edgar much, and the man showed as much when he grabbed one of Betty’s wrists in his hand, and roughly pulled her overtop of Jughead, pushing her down the small embankment that they were perched on top of. Her foot collided with Jughead’s temple as she fell, causing his vision to explode with stars. He tried to see where Betty had disappeared, but his vision wouldn’t clear enough for him to see. 

He lifted an arm, trying desperately to swing it to connect with Edgar’s face, but the older man was stronger than Jughead, and he batted Jughead’s hand away as if he were a child. 

“I had hoped to make this quick and easy, but you’ve left me no choice.” Edgar wrapped his large hands around Jughead’s neck, his fingers beginning to squeeze, blocking off Jughead’s oxygen supply. Jughead tried to squirm away from the tight grip, but it was useless. He couldn’t move out from underneath Edgar’s weight. He brought his hands up to Edgar’s, but he wasn’t strong enough to pry them away. 

The fingers gripped tighter, lifting Jughead head off the ground. Edgar spoke harshly through gritted teeth, “In the name of the Father,” he slammed Jughead’s head against the ground, causing black dots to explode across his vision, “the Son,” another slam, Jughead felt his breath leave his chest in a whoosh, “and the Holy -”

Then, as if by magic, the weight was gone. Jughead gasped deeply, still unable to focus his eyes on anything. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to sit up. His head spun sickeningly, his stomach lurching. His hand quickly came up to hold his forehead, a desperate attempt to stop the spinning. Jughead heard shuffling off to his left, up towards the log, and he dared to crack an eye open. He had no idea what was happening, or why Edgar was now suddenly gone, but he knew he needed to prepare himself before the man tried to attack him again. He looked up, expecting to see Edgar advancing on him again. 

What he hasn’t expecting was Archie, grappling with Edgar in the dirt. The two men were taking turns pinning the other down, their weight and strength evenly matched. Jughead watched in horror, unable to move, as Edgar threw his elbow viciously at Archie’s head, the joint connecting with Archie’s eyebrow with an audible crack. Edgar had gained the advantage and Jughead watched as the man pulled something out from his waistband, something shiny, the sun glinting off it. 

Jughead didn’t have time to think. He simply acted. He didn’t think twice as he rose to stand, wobbling unsteadily on his feet, and grabbed a large stone that sat next to him. He didn’t consider the consequences of his actions as he ran to where Edgar was pointing his handgun at his best friend’s face, nor did he he stop to think as he swung the rock down to meet Edgar’s skull. He felt something solid crack under his hands, along with the wet squelch of blood. 

Edgar’s body seemed to fall in slow motion, and Jughead fell to his knees, reaching with sluggish hands to pull the limp body off Archie. 

“You...okay?” he huffed, his chest clenching painfully. Archie’s eyes were wide, but he nodded his head. It was all the answer that Jughead needed. He rose again from where he knelt and stumbled down the small hill, his heart hammering at he saw Betty’s frame lying there. He rushed to her, falling to his knees again, the ground meeting him too quickly and jarring his body. He reached a shaky hand out and tears of relief sprang to his eyes when he felt a faint pulse at her neck. Jughead cautiously picked her up, holding her body close to his chest. 

He wanted to sob at how light she was, she felt as if she weighed barely anything, but he bit the inside of his cheek. He couldn’t fall apart. She still needed him. 

Archie came to stand by his side, and for a moment the redhead looked like he was going to offer to take Betty for him, but must have thought better of it. 

“We have to get back to my dad.” Jughead’s only response was a curt nod. 

The next few hours were a blur. He remembered things in bits and pieces, but nothing seemed to form a cohesive narrative. 

He knew that they had met up with Fred halfway back to the camp. Fred had asked them what happened, but Jughead couldn’t seem to make his mouth form words. Archie gave him a brief summary instead, and when he was done, Jughead had seen Fred look down, taking in the blood on his hands. Jughead couldn’t bring himself to care.

He knew that he had carried Betty back to the campground in his arms, reveling in the feeling of her shallow breaths against his chest. He needed the reassurance that she was alive, that she was breathing. 

He knew that the police were already at the scene when they made it back to the campsite. The flashing blue and red lights causing a dull throb at the base of his skull. 

They, too, tried to ask him questions that he couldn’t bring himself to answer. The one thing that he managed to get out was, “I don’t know if he’s dead, I don’t…” The police had led Archie away after that, presumably to go find Edgar’s body. 

He went to the picnic table instead, moving to sit atop it, continuing to hold Betty close to him. 

He vaguely remembered an officer trying to take Betty from him, and him responding by screaming for everyone to get away from them, his grip tightening on her. 

He had no clue how long he sat there, counting her breaths, even as his stuttered, not letting anyone near them. He knew, in the back of his mind, that he was in shock, and that wasn’t a good thing, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

It wasn’t until he heard a voice, soft and gentle, that he began to breathe normally again. “Jughead, honey. It’s okay. You can let her go. We’re here. She’s safe...you’re safe.” He felt his grip loosen, and the warmth of her body leave him. His body began to shake, and a small voice told him it was because his adrenaline was fading. Before he could process the loss of her heat, another set of arms engulfed him, holding him tightly as he wept. 

“Thank you,” it was Hal’s voice now, soft and low in his ear, “Thank you for bringing her back.” Jughead knew he should respond, should say  _ you’re welcome  _ or  _ it was no big deal _ or something along those lines, but instead what escaped his lips was a small exhale of breath and, “I’m so tired.” 

He felt his body go cold, his arms go limp. The last thing he remembered was hearing someone’s deep voice, it sounded like Fred, booming, “We need a stretcher over here!”

Then everything faded to black. 

* * *

He woke up in a hospital bed and groaned, his head and chest clenching painfully. When he tried to open his eyes, he found that there was an instant shot of pain up his spine. There was a clatter of movement, then a quiet voice beside him. 

“Don’t try to open your eyes, kid. You have a nasty concussion, you’re going to be sensitive to light for a while.” 

Jughead struggled to understand what was happening, panic welling up in his chest. 

“Boy, you need to breathe,” came the voice again, a little firmer this time. Jughead paused, recognizing the voice now. 

“Dad?” he whispered, hating the tremor in his voice. 

“I’m right here, Jughead.” A hand made its way into his, gripping it tightly. 

“Betty?” He didn’t say anything else, afraid that he would breakdown sobbing if he did. The hand in his squeezed lightly. 

“She’s going to be fine.” Jughead allowed himself to relax into the bed, reveling in the softness of the mattress. He felt fatigue grip him, trying to pull him back under, as his father gently whispered, “You did good, Jug.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loved it? Hated it? Got any theories? Angry at another cliffhanger? Tell me about it! Leave a comment, drop a kudos, come visit me on Tumblr!


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *deep breaths* This is it. The last chapter of Unhinged. It's not very big, just a little epilogue, really. But it took me all this time to write because I just didn't know how to say goodbye to this story. I feel like a little piece of my heart is being ripped out, honestly. 
> 
> But, my dears, don't be too sad. This might be the end of Unhinged, but there is so much more that needs to be told. A sequel is in the works, to tell the story of Betty's year of healing. The Way Back will be here soon enough. 
> 
> Until then, I have a new project that I am working on, The Perfect Mistake. Hopefully, it will be enough to get your through until the sequel is ready.

** _One Year Later_ **

Jughead leaned against his bike, the warm July air soaking into his skin. He had been sitting outside the building for about ten minutes now. He liked to be early to pick her up. 

He took a deep breath of the summer air, something he had been trying to do more of lately. In a few short days, he and Betty would be leaving Riverdale to start their freshman years at university. Technically, he should have been starting his sophomore year. For obvious reasons he had deferred, opting to stay home. It hadn’t been a hard decision. When they found Betty she was a shell of who she used to be. Archie and Veronica were both leaving for New York together. Jughead had known that Betty would need a support system other than her parents, and so he had chosen to stay. 

It had probably been one of the best decisions of his life. 

He glanced up as he heard the door to the office open, smiling as she walked out. It was her last session with her therapist in Riverdale, so he expected her to be a little sad, but his heart soared when he saw her smile. 

He waited as she skipped towards him, and he took a moment to revel in her lightheartedness. There had been a time, not so long ago, when he had thought the days of a carefree Betty were in the past. 

He had never been so glad to be wrong. 

She bounced up to him and reached her arms out for him. He happily obliged, loving the feel of her arms as they slid around him. A wave of content washed over him. He had a hard time explaining it to himself. It wasn’t something as drastic as feeling as if he couldn’t breathe without her. It was more subtle than that. 

It was a contact prescription that was just a  _ little  _ off. It was a glass of water that was  _ just  _ too small. It was a song that was too  _ quiet.  _

It was feeling like you were walking through life just fine, but then she entered the room. It was like having 20/20 vision. Like feeling completely sated. Like listening to the perfect song the perfect way. 

Could he live without her? He knew he could. He had for months. 

The question wasn’t if he  _ could  _ live without her. It was if he  _ wanted  _ to. 

And the answer was no. Never. 

He sighed into her hair as she pulled back slightly, a soft smile resting on her lips. 

“How was Evette?” he asked quietly, not wanting to break the bubble they were in. 

“Sad,” Betty admitted, “but happy for me. For us. She said that I can come see her whenever I’m home. And she recommended some therapists in New York. People she went to school with.” 

Jughead tilted his head, taking her in. "That was nice of her." 

Betty pulled him close again, humming her agreeance into his chest. They stayed like that for a while, neither of them wanted to move quite yet. 

Moving meant leaving, which would lead them forward. Onto the next day and the next. They were ready to start the next chapter of their lives, he knew they were. 

But that didn't mean they weren't scared. Change could be scary, the unknown could be terrifying. They were leaving everything familiar, forging ahead into uncharted territory. 

Jughead knew that everything would be alright, as long as her hand was in his. As long as they walked the road together, they wouldn't get lost. 

"Hey," he murmured in her ear. She lifted her head to meet his eyes. "Do you want to go for one last ride?" 

Her smile could have blinded him with its brilliance. She took the helmet he extended towards her. Before she put it on, Betty reached up on her tiptoes, grabbing his leather jacket in one hand, and pulled his lips down to hers in a crushing kiss. 

It wasn't their first kiss, it certainly wouldn't be their last, but it was perfect in its own way. 

It felt like the end of an era. Like a chapter was closing on their lives.

He was ready for new adventures, ones they would face together. Betty hopped onto the back of his bike, her arms wrapping tightly around his middle as her head came to rest on his shoulder. 

“Let us step into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure,” she whispered in his ear. Shivers ran down his spine at her words. 

He smiled widely and kicked the engine to life, the roar filling their ears as he looked back at her. 

“Adventure it is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you. Thank you to all of you who commented, left kudos, and read this story. Thank you for coming on this journey with me. Unhinged truly was my baby, a labor of love and heartache. I am so appreciative to every one of you who came along for the ride, and supported me along the way.   
You are all truly amazing, and my heart is so full. 
> 
> Chapter One of The Perfect Mistake is out now! If you want to hang around with me some more, that's where my focus will be for the next few weeks!


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